


Complete Unto Ourselves

by anifanatical



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Exploration of Vulcan Meditation Techniques, F/M, M/M, Mind Meld Gave Me Feelings, Pining, Telepathically Injured Spock, Trope Inversion, Two Minds One Body, Vulcans have feelings, first fic so I have no idea what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anifanatical/pseuds/anifanatical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is left in mental shambles after a vicious telepathic attack suffered during a rescue mission. But the source of the disarray may be less alien than he thought....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Aha.... I'm so nervous. I haven't written fic in years and never for Trek even though it's my life now.
> 
> Uhm... I tend to be wordy and meta-y and not very good with plot at all... but, well... There are plenty of fics where Jim gets memories from Spock Prime via mind meld, but I've never seen Spock get the memories so I took a stab at starting one. (Also, I have a lot of headcanons about Vulcan meditation.)
> 
> HOWEVER, I can't promise I'll write all of this. Because, like I said, I'm the worst at plot ever. (I study sociology; I'm used to analyzing things not being an awesome creative storyteller.) So if you like the idea, please feel free to take it and run -- just be sure to tell me so I can come read and fanspazz over your version of it!!! THANKS!!

**Prologue**

“I said emergency beam up! Get them out of there, NOW! Spock! SPOCK, ANSWER ME!”

“I... cannot,” Spock managed to grind out in response to the Captain's frantic voice leaping from the open communicator on his belt. As it was, through his hastily intensified mental shields, he could barely focus on moving, hauling the aged Ambassador Spock step by agonizing step to the arched stone doors that marked their escape. No amount of the Captain's yelling could help Mr. Scott beam the two Vulcans out of the building as the alien ore used to construct it interrupted their transporters.

“Of course it does,” Jim had muttered, “what _doesn’t_ interrupt them?!” and then had leveled that two-parts-exasperated-one-part-fond expression of his on Spock when the First Officer had begun his list of benign elements.

A frigid pain sliced up the side of Spock’s neck and he cursed his lapse in focus. His vision went dark around the edges and Jim's voice was drowned out by a pounding in his ears. He was sure his head would explode. Beside him, the ambassador barked and his face contorted, knees buckling under the weight of the telepathic barrage.

“It has not yet been decided that you may leave, Spocks of Vulcan,” their attackers' thin voices knifed at the edges of their minds.

His command for the ambassador to “shield” came out as nothing more than an anguished grunt as he threw himself forward another step. If he could only get them beyond the doors...

Laughter like blades on a whetstone. “The defense techniques of your 'Touch Telepathy' won't serve you well here, Vulcan. Ask the aged one – he has been witness to our abilities for longer than you.”

Anger surely would have been what he'd need to repress, were he not on mental lock-down. Telepathic torture was the most abhorrent kind in all the universes. And their assailants were right -- the intimate, close-proximity style of Vulcan telepathy was too different from the sharp, psychic lances being shot at them now. The attacks smashed at their defenses until one cracked. Physical wounds could be dealt with -- pain was a thing of the mind and could be redirected and ignored. But not mental wounds. When the knives sliced at the very core of their being, at the very essence of their identity, no creature could ignore it.

The only thing to be done was to strengthen the shields keeping the attacks out. Don't think of the anger, don't think of Jim’s voice, don't think of the attacks, don't think, just shield. He allowed his vision to tunnel and only spared short bursts of thought for the corporeal – his legs (another step. another. another.), his breath (inhale. exhale. in- inhale... exhale.), his arms wrapped around his older self, the erratic heartbeat strumming under his wrists. So very close now...

“We do not permit you to leave!!” The voices angry now, and more like lirpas smashing at his barriers. “We do not yet understand!!”

They were a mere meter from the door when the psychic pressure drew back and the sudden withdrawal made the ambassador collapse entirely, taking Spock to the stone floor with him. A ragged gasp escaped Spock's mouth as he felt it – a cobra's head rising, a le-matya rearing back... the aliens were preparing their final, devastating blow. He could not prevent the cold horror that shot through his veins as he realized the Vulcan underneath him was now barely conscious, utterly defenseless against the impending, potentially lethal, strike. Without sparing a second thought, his fingers shot to the meld points. He snatched the broken mind and was simultaneously wrenching it close and throwing up new shields when he saw it was too late.

His head erupted into flame as the alien presence crashed into him. Lights flashed with such intensity behinds his eyes that his vision whited out and the very synapses of his brain might be boiling away for the agony that tore through him. Distantly, someone was screaming, someone was writhing on the floor.

But then all he knew was darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 1

He was not where he should be.

Not where he was meant to be.

Displaced. Uprooted. Incongruous. Disconnected. The feelings threatened to drown him. He struggled to open his eyes – that must be why. He always felt this way upon waking up. …Didn't he?

KKaaiiiiddtthh. This is where he belongs now.

Home. On the Enterprise. … The... Enterprise?

That wasn't right either... was it? Why should it be wrong?

A slap across his face caused his eyes to snap open and he had his answer. Healing trance. Logically, he was merely disoriented from the deep meditation. Disoriented... Another slap and he focused on the pain, rooting himself in the real world. Another slap. He raised his hand to catch the doctor's wrist as usual, but missed entirely and the fourth slap struck him by surprise.

M'benga noticed it as well. “Are you adequately healed, Mr. Spock?” he questioned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “Normally you would have caught that last one. Are you, perhaps, still somewhat unstable?”

“I must admit, doctor,” the man's face swam before him and he closed his eyes against a wave of unusual vertigo, “that I do not know.” He let his memories resurface, (though it was alarming to note that it took far longer than usual). His older self, captured. The rescue mission. Telepaths. That’s why he had volunteered to go alone. He had more control over his mind than his human shipmates. He could prevent intruders. Or so he had thought. The torture he saw inflicted upon his counterpart. The violent mental assault they endured as they stole away from the captors. Pain, burning, blackness… and then waking up as he had in the med bay. But, indeed, something was still not right. He felt... confused, disordered, lost, and more than a little frightened. In fact, he _felt_ too much. “Doctor, my mental shields...”

“So the damned hobgoblin has decided to rejoin the land of the living, has he?” Bones' southern voice, characteristically warm despite his callous attitude, interrupted Spock's revelation as the CMO strode into the room. “I'm _not_ gonna admit that I'm glad you're okay but I _will_ say I'm relieved that we can finally stop worrying about Jim's murderous intentions toward the rec room equipment.”

“McCoy,” Spock gasped – _gasped?!_ He was suddenly, utterly overwhelmed by the sensation that he had not seen the doctor in years, decades even – that the frmieandn, standing before him was one he had, for whatever reason, long thought dead. The raw, untamed emotion tore unwarranted through his chest, causing his heart to clench painfully in his side and his eyes to widen in a mix of shock, happiness, and then promptly horror for having felt anything so strongly at all.

“My god, Spock!” Bones somehow quickly found the decency to drop his voice to a fervent whisper as he shot to the Vulcan's bedside, snatching a Tricorder on the way. “What's wrong?! You're... _You're crying!_ ” 

Spock wiped the tear from his cheek and watched it slide down his trembling fingers into the palm of his hand as both doctors whirled into action around him. “I do not... My shields are not...” He was infinitely thankful that his voice did not betray the same level of emotion that his body seemed to, but he still could not seem to focus on completing his sentences.

“Alright, okay,” Bones said softly – the doctor's drastic change from his usual roughness should have been more unsettling, but Spock could not help but find an anchor in the man's soothing bedside manner. “No need to talk if you're not feeling up for it. Just lie back down. We're gonna figure out what's going on, alright? Don't worry.”

“Vulcans do not... worry,” Spock protested weakly, but he obeyed, resting his head back against the biobed pillow and closing his eyes. Clearly, he needed to assess his condition. He mentally folded in on himself, wishing he had some incense to focus on rather than the persistent whir of Bones’ Tricorder buzzing around his head. But it would have to do. The doctors worked in silence for some time and he allowed himself to slip back....

“SPOCK!”

If the Vulcan had thought his reaction to Dr. McCoy had been unusual, he was not sure how to categorize what he felt at the sound of his Captain crashing into med bay calling his name. Something inside him spun around and reoriented itself toward Jim, like a magnet twirling to align its poles. An absolute, all-encompassing warmth suffused him and thrust him out of his shallow meditation. The tremors that raked through his heart earlier were forgotten in the wake of the swelling fondness it felt now. For a few moments, as he opened his eyes to gaze upon the bright golden face rushing toward him, all of his fear and uncertainty evaporated.

He was exactly where he should be.

Where he was meant to be.

Secure. Connected. Needed. Endemic. He felt drunk with it. Dizzy… Very dizzy, actually.... But this is where he belongs.

Home. Within that man’s affectionate hazel eyes.

Spock turned his head and reached out vaguely, unthinking, as his friend drew near to his bedside.

_H_ _B_ _a_ _l_ _z_ _u_ _e_ _e_ _l_ _?_ _?_

Jim caught him softly, avoiding his sensitive hands and squeezed his forearm in greeting, leaning against the wall beside the bed with his other arm. “Spock. God, you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you awake.” He shivered slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Jim,” Spock blinked up at him, brow knitting somewhat as he tried to focus through the spinning in his head. “Jim… What happened? Why are your eyes… Your eyes are _blue._ …” As he said it, his brow creased more deeply; _no… they’ve always been blue…._

Jim's expression followed suit -- concern, confusion, and a twinge of anger drawing his eyebrows together and narrowing his eyes which darted up to Bones and M’benga on the other side of the bed. “What’s wrong with him?,” Jim snapped quietly, his grip on Spock’s arm tightening, “He’s been in a healing trance for two weeks. I thought that’d mean he'd be... y'know... _healed_. Why...?”

Spock closed his eyes and took several slow, centering breaths as his Captain spoke. When he opened them again, the spinning had slowed. He still had no idea where that surge of emotion had come from, but he filed it away for later. Or he attempted to -- for some reason the confusion kept surfacing.... "Captain, I apologize. I appear to be having difficulty ordering my thoughts," he said, staring at the far wall.

"The telepathic attacks are likely the cause, sir," M'benga said. "From what we can see on our scans so far, his brain is working in overtime. And based on Spock's comments, my guess is that it's trying to compensate for broken shields."

"Not all of us are experts on Vulcans so you're gonna have to explain that one to me" Bones grumbled and Jim seconded the motion. M'enga glanced at Spock, who hesitated but eventually tilted his head in acquiescence. Truth be told, he would rather return to his mediation. As it was, he was having difficulty processing the activity in the room which had been relentless since he awakened. But he began slowly:

"As you gentleman are aware, Vulcans are infinitely more capable of mental control than humans." McCoy scoffed and the corners of Jim's mouth twitched up. Spock raised an eyebrow at their reaction to a simple fact but continued on, "We achieve this by a complex system of sectional organization. Different parts of our minds are separated by a series of simple shields creating... ‘mental compartments,’ if you will, which each house... their own... thoughts, memories... bodily functions, et cetera..."

He trailed off as the flow of his thoughts slowed and blurred, giving a little under the strain of focusing. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply again and Bones subtly pressed a hypo to his neck. Jim squeezed his arm and he continued more steadily. “From childhood, Vulcans are taught to section out their mindscapes in this way and access only that which is relevant at the time and block out the extraneous. For instance, physical pain can be sorted and shut down when necessary."

"This is also how they prevent undue expressions of emotion." M'Benga added. "It's not that they do not have emotions, but simply that they categorize them and set them apart from their actions."

Spock was admittedly less-than-pleased with the allusion to Vulcan feelings, evident in the pause during which he was not mentally sound enough to prevent a frown before pointedly ignoring both the comment and McCoy's smug expression. "In this way we are able to recall even the most obscure information expediently and with great accuracy, since everything has its place in our minds."

"Like data being recorded by a computer," Jim said. "Related data is stored together in separate places and referred to directly when needed."

"Precisely, Captain," Spock said, feeling all the force of the compliment he wasn't even sure Jim had meant to pay. Bones muttered something skin to "robotic hobgoblins" beside him.

"So the alien attack, what, targeted your shields?"

"In a manner of speaking. As a telepathic race, we also have defensive shields. The barriers function to prevent unwanted access to our minds as well as unintentional reading of other minds through casual touch. The aliens attacked us by first assaulting these outer buffers."

"But that doesn't explain why the inner compartments would be disordered, does it?" Bones questioned, glancing up from his tricorder.

"Not necessarily, Doctor. It would perhaps be accurate to compare the attack I endured to an enemy ship firing endlessly on the Enterprise's shields in an attempt to deplete our power reserves before performing a devastating strike against the ship. I defended myself in the same way we would the Enterprise."

"'Transfer all power to forward shields,'" Jim spoke as though quoting himself.

"Precisely."

"Leaving your inner shields neglected when your attackers broke through," M'Benga said thoughtfully and spun back around to work fervently at the revelation.

"So what does that mean?," Jim asked, his hand unconsciously running slowly up and down Spock’s arm. The action was not particularly new, but Spock was sure he had no reason to feel, as he did, that it was _nostalgic_. He shoved it aside with the dizziness and confusion. Meditation would be required later, but for now... his focus was… needed…

He gazed at the warm hand on his arm.

Needed...

“Spock?”

"I am not yet sure, myself, Captain," he admitted quickly, tearing his eyes away and forcing himself to come around. "I have not had ample time to meditate and assess my condition. However, from what I have been experiencing so far -- sluggish memory recall, difficulty focusing..."

"Overt expressions of emotion," Bones added matter-of-factly.

"An inability to remember your Captain's stunningly gorgeous blue eyes," Jim smirked.

"...Indeed," Spock quirked an eyebrow. "As such, I believe it would be safe to assume that my inner shields have been compromised in some fashion. I admit that I am somewhat concerned, then, for the well-being of my older self. He had been subjected to the telepathic torture for, presumably, the entire duration of his week-long imprisonment and was unable to properly defend himself against the final assault..." he allowed the sentence to trail off, distracted by Jim's rapidly tightening grip on his arm. He turned to see the captain's eyes squeezed shut, nostrils flaring, sorrow weighing down his shoulders and anger rippling through his arms.

He glanced back to the doctors and Bones shook his head.

"Ambassador Spock didn't make it...."

... No....

"When we got to you two, his body was still weakly functioning, but his mind wasn't active at all. Whatever attack those beings did killed him from the inside," M'Benga said quietly, giving the horrid style of murder all the delicacy it required.

Spock couldn't restrain the shudder that ran through him.

"We didn't know if the same had happened to you. After all, you were in that healing trance for two whole weeks. We weren't sure if you would wake up, either."

"But he did!" Jim burst from his tense grief emphatically, head snapping up. "He did wake up! Doesn't that mean the old man can, too?! Spock said he couldn't defend himself properly, but that doesn't mean he wasn't shielded at all, right? He could have still guarded the most important things. After all, his body was still functioning..."

"Jim..." Bones soothed quietly, striding around to the other side of the bed and resting his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Our Spock still had signs of higher brain function, Captain," M'Benga replied calmly. "The Ambassador did not. And although his body was still running at first, it soon dropped below maintainable levels." He turned to Spock, "We are keeping him on life support, since we weren't sure about your condition, either. I didn't have much hope before and now, based on what you've told us, I would assume… that his katra was destroyed by the assault."

Frigid horror seized Spock’s body, ripping another shudder from him. The room had been swimming but now it completely pitched sideways and his head slammed back against the biobed, eyes clenched tight against the vertigo. He heard Jim call his name frantically and Bones’ sharp explicative and somehow managed to piece together the vague question of why he was going into shock before he was swallowed by blackness again.

 

~*~

 

When he woke, the med bay lights were dimmed -- ship’s night. He felt a warm hand rubbing his arm again and tilted his head to find Uhura sitting beside the biobed smiling softly at him, “Hey there, you.”

He tried to sit up but succeeded only in emitting a quiet groan and collapsing back. “Well now that you figured that out, how about let’s not try it again for a while?” she teased.

“Nyota,” he sighed simply in reply.

“I was on duty when you first woke but Kirk brought me up to speed and let me off early so I could come down. Besides not being able to sit up, how are you doing?”

"Unsatisfactorily." A barely noticeable gasp escaped his mouth, illustrating his blunt point nicely. He grappled again with the sense of instability -- why was the room _still_ spinning?! It was as if he expected to see one thing but was constantly met with the sight of another.... The disorientation was overwhelming.

"I require a great deal of meditation."

"Should I leave you, then?" There was no sadness in her voice. Instead, from where her hand rested on his arm, only understanding and a warm wish for him to recover filtered in.

Very slowly, he reached his other hand across his chest and placed it atop hers. "It is difficult... to meditate in med bay..." he said with more embarrassment than was warranted. She smiled knowingly.

"That Vulcan lullaby you taught me, will that work?"

"It would suffice.... If you do not object...."

"Of course not, Spock. Anything to help."

It wasn't often that Spock requested to meditate to her singing. In all actuality, nothing had proven more centering in the past three years than the incense his mother had used when he was a child. But Nyota's voice offered a unique alternative from time to time and was eagerly accepted here among the void of sterilized medical equipment and the shivering of his unstable mind.

She began humming and Spock allowed his eyes to fall shut. The notes reveled in her rich voice and the drums of Vulcan could be heard hypnotically in the depth of intimacy she wove through the bars. He focused on them, matching his breaths to the swelling of the song and letting his hand fall away from hers as he drew slowly back from all other sensory perception. He slipped back...

 

~*~

 

On occasion, Spock had allowed himself to indulge in a small degree of pride regarding the organization of his mind. After all, despite the disadvantage of his human blood, his inner self was just as cleanly kept as any of his full-blood peers. Indeed, almost more so, whispered the vindictive child Spock kept tucked away.

As he sank down into the deepest few levels of meditation, it was precisely that usually well-restrained ghost of dark pride that snapped his attention to the current state of his mind. It suddenly became painfully clear as to why he could not focus and why he continued to be bombarded with unbidden flashes of his own emotion -- his mindscape was anything but the meticulously structured space he had constructed.

Fear flared up somewhere behind him as he briskly surveyed the damage. His shields were not shattered as he had imagined, but instead were warped and stretched awkwardly over places they should not be. Thoughts, memories, and facts that were usually tucked neatly into clearly defined sections of his mind were jutting out from their shields. Some were bisected by the walls between areas, others had somehow been thrust from their space and dragged into others resulting in them being choked in between overlapping shields that flickered and shuddered at the strain. Fear and panic swelled again. He would have to deal with that soon, as well as the other areas that were quivering just as distractingly, but he reasoned the most pressing matter was the small, shimmering jumble of memory turning slowly in empty space. The memories he hadn't had time to meditate over and sort away; the memories of the mission and alien attack.

If he didn’t sort through these first, he ran the risk of them naturally associating themselves with areas of his mind that may prove ineffective -- or even disastrous -- later. He focused on them carefully, threading through the images, feelings, and information and untangling them as he did during every daily mediation. He catalogued the planet's physical characteristics, the layout of the alien building, and the types of torture he had seen performed on his counterpart all as Objective Data, sorting them away into the section of his mind reserved for work and scientific analysis.

What remained were the subjective elements -- his emotions, his reactions. Curiosity toward the unseen enemy, pain from the ferocious mental barrage, desperation to escape, guilt at being unable to protect the elder Spock.... But most vivid was the lightning bolt fear that had speared through him when he had frantically melded with his counterpart and the alien presence smashed into their minds.

Spock could practicality see the spot in his mindscape where Fear reared up, reacting to the strength of the memory which itself sizzled and sparked, already being pulled toward its proper place. He guided it there smoothly, setting it securely in within the shields separating Fear from the rest of his Psyche and began to inspect the space.

Just like what he'd briefly seen of the others, Fear's shields were strained and warped like superheated glass. The memories and facts inside were jumbled and some phased through the barriers at seemingly random places.

What could have possibly caused such an odd disarrangement of his mind? Surely a telepathic force the likes of which he had experienced would have broken or incinerated the barriers in his mind, not merely disordered them... Spock absently sorted the question into Objective Work and set about gathering data to address it. He refocused on Fear and the associated memories trembling there, carefully accessing them one at a time...

_I'cha'ya lies shuddering on the ground, dying from the le-matya's poison._

_He’s shrinking back into an empty room as his antagonistic classmates came seeking more cruel experimentation on the emotional stability of a Vulcan/Human hybrid._

_His mother says ‘I love you’ as he leaves for Earth, and even though he is unsure of how much he will see her from then on, he is still afraid of admitting to the same feeling._

Childhood memories accounted for, then. They were still strongly set in place, completely nestled within the walls. Others were not and he turned his attention to those that been dislodged and were now bisected by the misshapen shields.

_He's careening through the quaking caverns of the katric ark to evacuate his parents and the Vulcan elders before the unthinkable happens._

_"Mr. Spock. Sir, You'd better get down here. Better hurry."_

_The vivid green of the Blood Fever clears from his vision to reveal Jim hanging limply from the cord wrapped tightly around his throat, dead by Spock's hand--_

Spock jolted away from the last memory with such force that he shocked himself out of deep meditation. His head spun and, although he had not completely surfaced, his ears unwillingly picked up the biobed's faint beeping matching his elevated heart rate. After a moment he was able to will it down on a deep breath and sink back to his still mildly quaking mindscape. Another superficial inspection proved the rest of his shields were more agitated than they had been before and although they all demanded attention, he endeavored to address one issue at a time.

Slowly, carefully, he returned his focus to the image of Jim sprawled lifelessly on the sand. It made no sense.... It could not possibly be a memory. Jim looked older than Spock knew him to be, for one.... A nightmare, perhaps? But surely a dream with such horrific material as murdering his captain would not have been something he would have forgotten.... Artificial, then? Placed there by the telepaths that had attacked him? For what purpose?

He drew away from the image to inspect its place within the shield -- not completely set within the mental compartment, jutting out with the shield running through it. It was what happened without proper meditation; thoughts and memories naturally associated themselves with strong emotions in haphazard patterns.

But sloppy meditation on his part would not explain the reason why memories of The Fall of Vulcan and of Jim's death were in a similar state of disarray. In fact, he knew with complete certainty that he had meditated for days on end after both occasions to ensure the vivid memories were securely tucked away where they would not interfere with his day-to-day work. The fact that they now half hung out into the open, free-form space in his mind was exceedingly dangerous.... It spoke of an inability to control emotional outbursts and a preponderance of illogical associations between new and old events. It also explained his inability to control himself in Sickbay when Jhiims anfdriMecnCdosy had been there.

.... What? Jhiims anfdriMecnCdosy. The ideas echoed over each other oddly. Friends? YNeos. He certainty had come to see Jim as a friend -- Khan had unwittingly done his best to ensure that. But the doctor? The man's dedication to his work was admirable but his manners left something to be desired and although they talked often, Jim serving as the central celestial body of their odd relationship, Spock would be hard pressed to call the doctor "friend," yet.

Irritation. Spock mentally nodded in agreement but soothed the emotion by ignoring the persistent echo and turning again to searching for the root of the issue at hand.

He began a list in Objective Data of the things that needed to be fixed during meditation and added the memories disengaged from Fear's shield and the odd echo of thought he could not seem to pinpoint. He had noticed the, somewhat neglected, compartment for Love and Warmth had been humming as he heard the echo, and deciding it was as good a place as any for the next inspection, he shifted his attention to it.

Something was definitely wrong there.

Where Fear had a few memories dislodged from its safety, Love and Warmth was positively overflowing with information. It wasn't that Spock never associated thoughts with that part of his mind -- almost all memories of his mother had been enshrined there after her death. Uhura's companionship, the crew's respect, Jim's friendship also were allowed residence there -- but it was a small space, one he didn't often add to. As such, the sheer volume of memories he now saw associated with the emotion caught him off guard and he stared incredulously. The vast majority were as the memory of Jim strangled to death -- half-sticking out and distorting the shield's shape. Warily, he accessed those first.

_Uhura hugs him and her arms, as ever, are sure and accepting even though he had only once ever fully returned the gesture._

_"I married her because I loved her."_

_He's sitting beside a log fire in the woods roasting... marshmelons? marshmallows? The wrinkles on his friends' aged faces only serve to highlight the warmth of their smiles._

_"Because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many."_

_He's tying his katra to McCoy's unconscious mind, certain that it will be cared for there._

Definitely. Wrong.

Spock retracted carefully this time, but his mindscape was already shuddering again. A thin mist of panic crept across his thoughts before he could secure it and he spun around and fiercely concentrated on Objective Data if only to avoid the emotional fallout happening in the rest of his mind. Concentrate.

The memories are false.

They could not have originated from him.

Therefore, they must have been placed there by an outside force.

The telepaths that attacked him are the most likely culprits.

But the results do not match the aliens’ apparent violent goal.

After all, artificial memories of fear could cripple an enemy, but artificial feelings of love and friendship? What could possibly be gained by such things?

But if not the telepaths... then...

 

 

Everything was suddenly silent.

The tremors that had been plaguing his mindscape ceased and the panic evaporated. Not a single thought or emotion so much as breathed. And in that momentary absolute stillness, Spock felt it. The slow rousing of an awareness beside his own, as though someone had initiated a mind meld with him as he lay in the biobed. But as the separate mind drew itself from unconsciousness, he realized with a small degree of anxiety that there was no meld.

FFaasscciinnaattiinngg......

Objective Data somewhat sarcastically checked off “find source of persistent echo.”

 


	3. Chapter 2

{It would appear something has gone wrong, young friend.}

[Indeed,] was Spock’s simple reply. It was all he could seem to manage at the moment.

Contrary to what those close to him may assume, Spock did not _dislike_ his counterpart Spock from the future timeline. That was not to say that he particularly enjoyed his company, certainly not the way he enjoyed the company of Nyota or Jim. No, Spock was merely… uncomfortable when around him. The current situation only exacerbated the feeling.

As with a normal meld, there were no physical representations of either his or his counterpart’s bodies, merely an awareness of another being -- similar to being able to hear or feel movement from someone other than oneself in a dark room, the mind recognizes thoughts and actions that are not its own. However, in a normal meld, one can easily withdraw from another presence and find balance in one’s own mind. But this was no normal meld. Spock’s mind felt strained as it instinctively tried, and continually failed, to distance itself from a consciousness that was far too close. The resulting sensation was one in which Spock’s mind drew itself to one side of the expanse of his mind while the elder sat at the opposite end, their now-shared mindscape balanced fragilely between them in a convoluted parody of a game of “Tug-of-War.”

Spock could feel his counterpart's gaze breezing through the space, taking brief stock just as he had done. The warped shields, although they still struggled to maintain a resemblance of order, were no longer trembling as they had been before. Apparently they had gained some stability by the Elder Spock awakening. But that begged the question...

{Forgive the somewhat insensitive query, but in which of our minds are we, currently?} The elder Spock's voice danced through his mind as freely as Spock’s own might. It was calm and laced with a subtle laughter that Spock had come to expect but felt he would never understand. The light curiosity and amused surprise played counterpoint to Spock's own shadowy anxiety and cautious intrigue.

[As far as I understand the situation, we are currently in my own mind. However, the results are unlike any produced by a meld.]

Spock could not help but shiver uncomfortably as he felt his mind seem to act of its own accord, the shields being tested and information being accessed by him, but not by him.

{Indeed, this is unprecedented....} came the thoughtful murmured assent. {However, your fear, while logical, is unnecessary. I will not intentionally harm your mind. Nor you, mine, I should imagine.} Another wave of amusement danced over the space and Spock mentally quirked an eyebrow.

A peal of deep, rumbling laughter. {I have often wondered what that feels like in a meld. I was always told it was quite striking.}

 _Love. Bondmate. Ashayam_. Like an immense wave, thoughts and feelings crashed over him. Spock reeled and found himself struggling with the instinct to gasp for air even in deep mediation where his breathing was strictly regulated.  

When the tide receded, Spock stood frozen, trying to recenter himself before speaking, [You allow your emotions... a great deal of free reign over the open space in your mind.] It was meant to be a mere observation, but Irritation slipped a hint of acid into the thought.

He immediately felt the elder attempt to pull the stray emotions back toward himself, but the old Vulcan seemed to have some difficulty, presumably because he was still rather weak. In particular, his mental smile was still evident. {Ah, yes. Forgive me. My bondmate had been fond of the arrangement and I have found no reason to change, even all these years later.}

Spock absently wondered what kind of Vulcan would appreciate such a rampantly emotional mindscape. A muted chuckle suggested the question had been overheard, but, mildly embarrassed, he ignored it and directed the conversation forward. [Doctors McCoy and M'Benga believe you to be dead at the hands of the telepaths we encountered.]

Surprise, interest, and a wordless question sparked between them.

[Your body is still functioning, but it was concluded that your katra had been destroyed by the attack.]

There was a moment's pause during which Spock could feel their shared mindscape processing the information and he struggled again with the uncomfortable sensation. {But clearly, it was not. Somehow I have come to be in your mind instead -- my thoughts and memories are here and, it seems to me, even some remnants of my own mental shields.  It appears as though my katra has been transferred to you... although I do not remember initiating a meld, certainly not for that purpose.} The amusement was gone from the elder's thoughts now, but there was still no sign of fear or panic. Spock spared half of a fleeting moment to wonder at the serenity.

[Indeed, you did not. I performed a meld after you had fallen unconscious in an effort to shield you from a particularly strong telepathic attack. Unfortunately, I was ultimately unable to protect us sufficiently and soon after lost consciousness due to the pain of the mental invasion.] The information related to the memory in question glowed softly as he referenced it -- the hard details in Objective Data, the bits of emotion in Anger, Pain, Fear. He felt his counterpart glance at them but ignore their presence for the sake of Spock's privacy, a choice for which Spock found he was quite grateful.

{The pain was from mental invasion of the Uhl'en? Or of my katra?}

Spock paused. He hadn't considered the possibility that if the "false" memories were a product of melding with his elder, that the searing pain might have been as well.

{Indeed,} his counterpart responded to the unvoiced thought, {Although the chance of Jim's "universe-ending paradoxes" occurring was low upon us meeting, I had decided it would be best to avoid melding with each other. For regardless of the fact that we are from two different universes, we are still, biologically, the same person and therefore our minds and katras may have been naturally too similar to perform a safe meld.}

At that, the tremors slowly resurfaced and there was a growing hum as the shields began to quiver again. [The thought had not crossed my mind during the time of crisis,] Spock replied crisply. [Perhaps it would have been more logical to share your conclusion with me sooner in order to prevent such unfavorable situations as that in which we currently find ourselves.] An undo amount of Irritation and Fear hissed behind the comment and Spock flinched ever so slightly as he noticed. He felt the elder eye him carefully.

{I apologize for my oversight,} he said simply, but sincerely.

Spock would have sighed had he been awake. Instead, the mental equivalent helped him to smother the quaking of their mindscape before replying, [Kaiidth. I, too, apologize for my lack of control. As you can see, my shields are quite disrupted by our current state.]

He felt the elder nod. {My mind is also weakened by the treatment of the Uhl'en. As such, it is inordinately difficult to maintain myself here.}

Spock considered that for a moment. [You call them the Uhl'en.... Do you know them?]

The mindspace seemed to shift of its own accord again and Spock could sense a thin veil descend surreptitiously over the area in which the elder’s consciousness was settled. {I was the subject of their telepathic experiments for 6 days 11 hours and 47 minutes before being rescued. I came to know a few things about them.} His thoughts were considerably quieter and noticeably more strained than before and Spock could feel how much the meager shield had cost him of his energy. The sudden use of a shield was, itself, suspicious, but Spock avoided paying it too much mind so the elder would not realize he had noticed it.

[You should rest, Elder,] he resigned. [I will continue my meditation and attempt to create a temporary stability for myself for the time being. Afterwards, we should inform the others of our situation.]

A wordless assent and a sense of gratitude drifted from his counterpart.

Without understanding what possessed him to point it out, Spock added, [The captain will be gratified to hear of your survival. He was quite... distressed... at the thought of your passing.]

Clearly it had been the correct thing to say, as suddenly a warm glow suffused the entire space, seeming to coalesce mostly near the elder's corner. It proved calming and centering, and when he was sure his counterpart was no longer paying attention, Spock allowed himself to float aimlessly on it for a while, then turned back to work feeling slightly more refreshed.

 

~*~

 

When he awoke in sickbay and turned his attention inward slightly, he could not feel any hint of the elder Spock's presence. He would have written off the whole experience as a dream but for the fact that one does not enter the REM cycle during meditation. Furthermore, he could feel the limits he had placed on his mind to safeguard himself from instability -- he had constructed very small, temporary shields around his existing ones, lessening his free-form space but ensuring that the information gathered today would not arbitrarily, or permanently, associate itself with any of the memories which had been shoved halfway through their shields. If that part of his meditation held true, then he had no reason to believe the rest to be falsehood. Instead, he hypothesized that either the elder was still recovering from his weakened state or that his katra was merely accessible only during the deep meditation that allowed Spock to fully engage his own mindspace.

Gazing about sickbay, he was pleased to note that his temporary solution appeared to be working well. The room no longer spun and the disorienting double vision persisted only very lightly at the corner of his eyes -- a vast improvement over the day before, if still marginally inconvenient.

McCoy walked briskly into the room armed with his tricorder, no doubt called by the biobed notifying him of Spock having sat up. "Spock, how're you feeling?"

"I am functioning at a significantly higher level than I was yesterday." Bones began waving the sensor around his head, regardless, and Spock huffed quietly. "Doctor, I have discovered the cause of my compromised state. Rather than continue to berate me with scans, perhaps it would be prudent at this time to inform the Captain and Doctor M'benga that Ambassador Spock is alive."

Bones' hand paused midsweep. "And how would you know a thing like that?"

"His katra -- his... mind -- has become attached to mine presumably due to a malfunctioned mind meld."

The doctor stared at him unblinkingly for some time.

"There are no words," he muttered, dropping his frustrated gaze to his device as he closed it up.

"That, Doctor, would be a first."

 

~*~

 

As he was not physically injured and need not stay in bed, Spock had attempted to get up. But McCoy had insisted he "stay put until the captain gets down here and we get this all explained in bite-sized pieces." Spock was still unsure as to how spoken words could be in any way edible, but the doctor had punctuated his "request" with the threat of a hypo so Spock remained sitting up rigidly, legs tucked under the red sheets.

Then, when the captain collapsed beside his legs on the mattress, Spock found he ultimately had no occasion to complain. In fact, Jim's earnest eyes (locked with his), desperate hand (clenching Spock’s calf), and impassioned gasp ("He's alive?!") sent another very small ripple of the same warmth from last night through him. How strange -- was his elder self aware of events even though Spock could not currently sense his consciousness? And furthermore, if Spock could not sense the foreign consciousness, why should the foreign emotions be known to him? He made a note to check on it later, mentally shook himself to regain focus, and nodded once in reply.

A sigh shuddered from Jim's chest and he squeezed Spock’s leg. His relief was so strong, and Spock's shields so weak, that Spock could not avoid catching glimpses of it even through the sheets.

"Okay. Okay, good," Jim panted softly, collecting himself,  "How?"

With help from M'Benga, Spock explained the Vulcan katra, its purpose, and its transfer, to the captain and McCoy. As the exposition wound down, M'benga turned to Spock.

"I must admit that I do not have any experience in dealing with katric transfers, Mr. Spock. I am a physician, not a Healer."

"That is understandable. Only the Healers on New Vulcan will have knowledge enough to help us."

"Then we'll set a course there immediately," Jim said decisively.

"Unacceptable, Captain. We have rescued my counterpart, thus fulfilling the purpose of our original diversion, and are now expected to travel to Kestar II as per our standing orders. We have Free-Roam days scheduled immediately after this mission during which we may divert to New Vulcan." Jim appeared incredulous so he added, "The Elder's physical life-sustaining processes will remain functioning for long enough to accommodate our plans, even without his katra."

"And what about you?" Bones asked with no small amount of exasperation coloring his voice. "I'll eat my tricorder before I believe you'll be spending the remainder of the time here in sickbay _like you should_."

"Doctor, perhaps you should consider admitting yourself to this torture chamber as you appear to have recently developed an appetite for a number of things which are decidedly inedible."

"Can it, Spock. You know damn well what I mean. Are you fit to be gallivanting about the universe with your head all screwy?"

As he spoke, he gestured dramatically with his hands. For an instant, the ghostly double vision extended past Spock's periphery and the doctor was overlain with a slightly older version of himself performing similar antics. The unsettling effect was gone again just as quickly, leaving a slight vertigo in its wake. Spock shook his head slightly, concealing it as a response to McCoy's accusation. "I am functioning adequately enough for duty, Doctor."

"Like hell you are!"

"Bones," Jim interrupted coolly. He paused, then turned to Spock and searched his eyes with silent zeal. Spock had always been unsure of how he felt about being read so thoroughly by just Jim's gaze, but in his current state, the emotions whispered more noticeably in his mind  -- Warmth at one end, Trepidation on the other. Nevertheless, he returned the look evenly.

"Are you in any danger?"

"At the current moment, there is nothing to suggest that I am."

"And do you pose a threat to the crew or to ship operations?"

Spock considered it carefully for a moment. "I believe that I do not. However, should any situation arise where I feel I am no longer fit for duty, I will notify you immediately, Captain."

Jim closed his eyes and sighed heavily again. "Okay, Bones, there you have it. If anything comes up, Spock will report to me and then here to you immediately afterwards." Spock made to object but Jim held out a hand and raised his eyes back to Spock's, "No arguing, Mr. Spock. Those are my conditions."

Spock felt a petulance drum up behind his temporary shields, but he ignored it and nodded wordlessly.

Everything thus settled, M'benga excused himself. McCoy shot matching glares at the Jim and Spock and huffed his begrudging assent before leaving the two of them alone, both still sitting on the biobed.

A pregnant silence stole the room as Jim turned away, settled both feet on the floor, and stared at his hands clasped in front of him. Spock watched him, unsure of what more was to be said.

"Can he hear me? Us? Does he know what's happening? Happening now, I mean?" Jim rambled softly.

Spock mentally glanced inside. "I am unsure. I do not hear his thoughts as before. However..." he drifted off uncharacteristically, truly unable to discern the nature of the makeshift balance he was maintaining.

Jim's eyes darted back over his shoulder, then away to the floor, before returning to hold Spock's. "You're not allowed to die on me, okay? Either one of you. Captain's orders. Tell him that for me, will ya'?" Jim's paper smile fluttered somewhat and the sight of it derailed Spock’s instinct to point out the illogical nature of such a request. Before his disordered mind was able to provide any new reply, Jim nodded, patted Spock’s leg once more, and left.

 

~*~

 

“His katra is in your mind? But his body is still alive, which means he can be transferred back via the fal-tor-pan, right?”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Nyota over the remains of dinner in her quarters. McCoy had released him from sickbay -- amid much grumbling and general disapproval and only after subjecting Spock to a final barrage of tests that had taken the rest of the day -- and Spock had accepted Nyota’s invitation for a quiet dinner alone rather than in their usual corner of the mess. “You are remarkably well read on my culture,” he noted calmly. She flushed ever so slightly but didn’t miss a beat in her reply.

“Yes, well, after everything, I figured someone should be.”

After a moment’s consideration and the last spoonful of his soup, he thanked her quietly and she smiled and nodded. The short silence that followed would usually have been companionable, but felt somewhat off tonight. But then again, _everything_ had the smallest sense of “wrongness” about it since he awoke in sickbay. Therefore, Spock chose to ignore it and returned to Nyota’s question.

“Normally, you would be correct. The fal-tor-pan ritual would be used to separate a guest katra from the host and refuse it with its proper body. However, the fal-tor-pan is an extremely dangerous and nearly hypothetical process. I am sure you found in your research that it is unknown whether the ritual has actually ever been performed. Furthermore, the fact remains that my katra and the katra of my counterpart are more similar than any two katra would be normally. From my meditation last night, it is clear that our minds are fused in what I can only assume is an unnatural meld.”

Nyota weighed the information carefully before continuing her questions. Questions which Spock did not mind -- it was what he found most admirable about her: her thirst for knowledge, her eagerness to learn. It was what he saw in her at the academy and what he was pleased to still see in her now. And although sitting in the room alone with her was causing a barely perceptible hum of _oddness_ at the back of his mind, her curiosity centered him.

“You mentioned earlier that things seemed... ‘overlain...’ at times. As if you were seeing two things at once? Does that mean the other Spock is conscious?”

“I admit I do not know, although I believe I would be hard-pressed to say that were the reason. Rather, I have the… feeling… that the double vision has more to do with memory recall occurring unbidden and at inappropriate times.”

Nyota smiled up at him over her glass. “So, like normally for us humans, then?” she teased.

“It is a highly inconvenient mental system,” he retaliated softly, the corner of his mouth quirking.

She laughed, a beautiful, full sound, and Spock dipped his head in a small bow as he stood and began removing their dishes from the small table. When he reached for her glass, she intercepted him and softly caressed the back of his hand.

Where warmth usually danced along her fingers, a cold electricity crawled up the length of his arm at her bare touch and crashed unpleasantly into his mind. His fragile makeshift controls shuddered and he gently removed his hand. Eyes closed, brows drawn, he shook his head, “I apologize. My… shields are not….”

“Oh! Right! I’m sorry, Spock, I didn’t even think of that,” she said. He waved off her apologies and tucked the dishes into the recycler.

“There is no need. I, too, underestimated the extent to which my telepathy might be altered in my present condition.” He turned to her as she stood.

“My guess is it’s a lot like having a cold? Where anything touching your skin feels gross and even your favorite foods taste like dirt?” She smiles in good humor and walks to him. Careful to avoid skin contact, she wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him into a loose hug. He places his hands softly at the small of her back.

“An… interesting, if somewhat colorful, analogy.”

“Your favorite.”

A contented silence suffuses the room and Spock allows his thoughts to drift with the gentle glow of their relationship. It is a different kind of warmth than the kind he experienced in meditation with the Elder Spock. That warmth was an all-encompassing affection, the blanketing light of the midday sun and the full breath of clean desert air after a rare rain. The warmth he feels with Nyota is that of a Vulcan summer’s night; calm and undemanding, comforting and quiet.

Nyota’s warmth.

Lt.NUyhoutraa….

  


Ah.

Spock sighed. Nyota looked up at him and hummed a question.

“It would seem that the Ambassador has regained some degree of consciousness,” he explains, eyes still closed against the unusual stirring in his head.

{ _How very fascinating!_ } Spock hears him, the elder’s enthusiasm unhidden from his own mind.

[ _Indeed?_ ] he thinks back with no small amount of irritation, he must admit.

His face must have exhibited his annoyance more so than he would have liked since Nyota pulled away slowly, cautiously. “Does it hurt?”

“No, there is no pain. It is merely...” { _Unique_ } [ _Uncomfortable_ ] { _Intriguing_ } [ _Distracting_ ]


	4. Chapter 3

Shortly after returning to his quarters after his shift, Jim received the notification from Bones that Spock had finally been released from sickbay. He collapsed into his chair.

The past several weeks had been harrowing. Not knowing whether Spock would wake.... Not knowing the Ambassador’s condition.... Not knowing what had happened on the planet -- by the time they managed to get a rescue team down to the surface, it was to find the two Vulcans alone, sprawled lifeless on the floor of an empty cavernous space.... He sighed.

He wanted to say "screw their orders" and rush both Spocks to New Vulcan at excessive warp. He wanted to hunt down whoever had harmed them. He wanted to return to the planet and tear it apart to find out why there was nothing there when the rescue team arrived.

But what he wanted most of all in this moment, sitting alone in his room, was to call up Ambassador Spock, as he often did when he needed to unwind.

Of course, Jim usually had Bones and "his" Spock to talk to, but the Ambassador treated him with such unhindered acceptance, respect, and fondness that he had almost instantly felt free to share everything about himself with the old Vulcan.

After all, the Ambassador had shared so much of himself during their meld in the frozen caves on Delta Vega...

The pain...

The loss...

The guilt...

The absolute, suffocating, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing loneliness....

So Jim had found himself calling New Vulcan regularly to chat. At first he told himself he did it because he felt sorry for the old Spock. But when it came down to it, he knew it was because there was a not-so-small part of him that knew loneliness, too. And he wouldn't even wish it on Nero, let alone the man that called him "old friend" so affectionately.

Through their correspondence, Ambassador Spock had become a strongly supportive friend, always willing to talk with Jim at all manner of unseemly hours of the night -- ready with a quick not-smile, a soft compliment, a stern reprimand, whatever Jim needed. And Jim kept the Ambassador diverted with (only slightly embellished) stories from their latest adventures.

It was during such a conversation with the Ambassador, shortly after the beginning of their 5-year mission, that Jim had finally admitted aloud the nature of his feelings for his first officer. And, as is the natural progression of such things, once actually admitted the feelings only grew stronger. Quite a lot stronger than he would have originally given them credit to be. And some nights he really just needed to talk to someone about the way Vulcan ears blushed the faintest green, or about how you can totally read emotions in a Vulcan's eyes if you know what to look for, or about how a deep voice listing planet statistics should not be sexy at all but _could be_ depending on how much sleep you got the night before....

It didn't help that he knew Ambassador Spock and the Jim Kirk from the other universe had been together. He'd seen it -- felt it -- in the meld. But the Ambassador wouldn't tell him any more than that, still keeping up all that talk about preserving the distinctions between the universes, not letting Jim "cheat" anymore, adhering to the Prime Directive.

And that was all well and good, Jim supposed. Oh, he was curious as an Erylian Badger, but all he really needed was to vent. That's what he told himself, anyway.

After all, Jim Kirk was perfectly capable of maintaining a professional relationship with the object of his unrequited affections.

Really, he was.

He could easily be a level-headed adult when it was required of him. He never would have made it through Frank's, Tarsus, or his accelerated academy curriculum if he couldn't. The rumor that he was nothing but a rambunctious child courting luck (and any attractive biped) was based on only a kernel of truth. Rather, he was always very careful of where he directed his energy. Playfulness and rashness could be a good balance to the stress and gravity of captaincy, for instance. Flirting and sex could help boost his confidence and temper his occasional anxiety. And freely discussing his amorous feelings with one Spock could prevent him from acting on those feelings around the other.

He had refined the balancing act long ago so in every situation, even when he wasn't sure of what he _should_ do, he was always certain of what he _could_ do.

And he _could_ continue to be professional around Spock.

He had accepted Spock's plan to retrieve the Ambassador alone without fretting (too much) over the potential danger.... He hadn't rushed up to crush Spock in a desperate hug when he woke.... He had even managed to be so productive as to work out instead of sitting at the bedside while Spock was still in the coma -- never mind that Bones had all but chased him out of Sickbay or that the rec room equipment had sustained perhaps a bit more strain than usual.

What he was _less_ capable of doing was controlling himself under the current circumstances; with both Spocks now inhabiting the same body he was suddenly short one sounding board. And again, there was always Bones. But he hadn’t told McCoy of his crush. He hadn’t said a word, and yet was under the distinct impression that the doctor knew anyway. But somehow that made it even more difficult for Jim to admit to his feelings.

So that left him staring at the blank comm monitor at this desk, debating the probable effectiveness of a personal log. He shook his head and grabbed the stack of PADDs with the briefing materials for their upcoming mission on Kestar II. Work would have to be enough to distract him for the time being. Although, he had already read through the report a handful of times and Kestar II looked like it would barely serve to maintain his attention; yet another simple diplomatic drop-in. Tomorrow's briefing meeting promised to be incredibly dull. He would need to get plenty of sleep tonight to prevent his mind from making uncomfortable comments about Spock's voice.

Spock's voice...

Spock was scheduled to lead tomorrow's briefing!

In all the commotion, he'd completely forgotten. He spun to his desktop comm unit and paged over to Spock's room. The stubborn Vulcan would probably insist on handling the briefing regardless of his state of questionable health, but Jim figured he would at least offer to cover for him on the off chance Spock didn’t quite feel up to it.

 

On the list of things that prove Jim Kirk is a completely level-headed adult about all things Spock: he definitely hadn’t memorized the number of seconds it normally took Spock to answer the comm. Definitely not. Not exactly. But he couldn’t help but notice that the intercom remained silent for quite a bit longer than was usual . He pushed the call button again -- with perhaps a little bit too much force -- and dammit if his heart didn’t stutter at the sudden mental image of Spock lying unconscious on the floor due to some horrible unforeseen complication of the meld. But after a deep breath and another set of silent seconds he was calm enough to realize Spock must be in Uhura’s quarters. He deftly side-stepped the jealousy that jumped up at the back of his mind and switched to call Uhura’s.

He heard the comm click almost instantaneously which meant their skillful communications officer was the one who would answer. ( _And that they hadn’t been engaged in any release-from-sickbay celebrations of the carnal variety_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully.)

“This is Uhura,” her voice rang clear and professional.

“Hey, Uhura. Kirk, here. Any chance Spock is there with you? I just remembered he’s scheduled to do the briefing tomorrow, but if he isn’t feeling well, I could…” he trailed off awkwardly.

There was a strange pause and Uhura’s voice sounded tight when she replied, “Spock left about an hour ago to meditate…. You called his quarters?”

The frigid fear from earlier slid back into his veins. An hour…!

Then captain mode flared to life and he flew into action. “ I commed his quarters twice with no answer. Crap! I’ll call Bones to see if he’s down there. You check the turbolifts and get to Ops if you don’t find him. He was off duty so he wouldn’t have been wearing his badge which means the computer can’t trace him. Get a security team set up on every deck and have them sweep the ship. I don’t want any room un-”

“ _Captain Kirk!_ ” Uhura yelled, sounding distinctly like she had been trying to get his attention for the duration of his tirade. “Kirk,” she repeated with a laugh, “Observation Deck III. Either the third private room or the last table on the port side.”

Jim blinked, resetting his brain to “Not-Freaking-Out-Over-Nothing Mode,” and stood. “Okay. Great. Awesome. Yeah. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“My pleasure, Captain,” the tightness of her voice was back, but it was lost on Jim as he ran off to the observation deck.

Alone in her quarters, Nyota was giggling triumphantly.

  

~*~

 

“Spock?” Jim rapped on the observation room door. It slid open not long after and Spock stood in the doorway looking confused. _Looking_ very confused. For a moment, the obvious emotion in his expression threw Jim off balance.

“Captain?”

“Spock! You’re-” _Not dead. Conscious. VERY emotive…_ “Are you alright?” The question must have clued Spock in because the open curiosity vanished from his face to be replaced with his signature raised eyebrow.

“I am… adequate. If somewhat distracted.”

Jim fought back a blush. (Completely level-headed adult. Yup.) “Oh. Sorry, for interrupting. I just… Uhura told me you’d be here and I wanted to check up on you.”

Spock stared at him, the quizzical look resurfacing far more readily than usual. “Forgive me, Captain. I was unclear. It is not _you_ , but Ambassador Spock who is distracting me.”

“The... Ambassador?”

Spock nodded and bowed Jim into the private viewing room. “Approximately 1.85 hours ago, the Ambassador regained full consciousness in my mind."

“He’s awake?!” Jim asked and Spock nodded, somewhat resignedly.

"Until that point, we had only been able to communicate when I was meditating deeply, and there had been no indication that he was cognizant of my surroundings. Now, he is every bit as aware as I.”

“So he can hear me? Definitely this time?”

“Indeed….”

Jim looked deep into Spock's eyes, as if he might see the old Spock hiding there. “Hey, old man! What’s the big deal getting yourself kidnapped?”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up higher than Jim had ever seen it. “He returns your greeting. And says your ‘stories of adventure’ inspired him?”

Laughter bubbled up from Jim. Ambassador Spock's unabashed humor and Spock's baffled reaction to being used as a comm unit made him feel better about their situation than he had in weeks.

“This is good news, right? As far as his health goes?”

“Unknown. However, we theorize that it may have been better if he had remained dormant to avoid further entanglement of our minds. As such, we are both in the process of putting up shields and are attempting to avoid much mental interaction." Spock turned toward the window view screen, "It is proving to be... somewhat of a delicate act.”

“Ah, sorry. Me talking to him probably doesn't help, huh?”

“Not as such. But it is of little consequence. He is… pleased to see you.”

Jim grinned and stood quietly for a long moment, gazing at the computerized image of the stars they were passing at warp. He couldn't even begin to fathom what Spock, both Spocks, were going through. He tried to remember how the meld on Delta Vega had felt. A rush of images and emotions that he couldn't understand at first.... The Ambassador’s voice, both whispered in his ear and echoing to him from across a cavernous space.... It may have been disorienting at the time, but hadn't seemed dangerous. Indeed, after Spock had broken the telepathic contact, Jim had even felt a fleeting desire to meld again.  

“You said 'mental interaction' can lead to 'further entanglement'?" Jim confirmed. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"As this situation is unprecedented, we are not entirely sure ourselves. It is difficult to explain and, indeed, difficult for a non-telepath to comprehend," Spock admitted. He paused to collect his thoughts, something he rarely needed to do, and it set Jim on edge ever so slightly.

"Perhaps it is easiest to think of it in terms of memory recall," he continued at length. "As you know, organic brains encode memories in the form of neurons. When a stimulus -- such as a sound, smell, or event -- reminds us of a memory, physical connections are made in the form of synaptic relays that branch between the neuron containing the memory and the one containing the new information of the present stimulus."

"I admit it's been a while since I took Bio101, but I seem to remember that much," Jim joked lightly.

"Indeed. And you will recall that repeated use of a synapse strengthens it and makes the chemical transfer between neurons more efficient. The reason why, as humans say, 'practice makes perfect,' is because the brain's synapses become solidified by constant use. If they are ignored, the synaptic cells move to create relevant connections elsewhere in the brain and the connection between two ideas is forgotten."

Jim's eyes narrowed in thought. “When you woke up, you didn't recognize my eye color.... Not because you are missing memories, but because you have ones that aren't yours."

"Yes."

"I think I see where you’re going with this. So you're afraid mind-chatting and memory-swapping will tie his memories into your brain?"

"Precisely. But more pressingly, it could result in such an network of new, confused synaptic relays as to make it difficult for the Ambassador to safely return to his own body."

Jim felt a jolt of fear. "What?! Why? Is it different from a normal mind meld? It didn't feel like it was difficult to separate from one of those...."

Spock's eyes widened and shot to Jim. "You have been party to a Vulcan mind- ?" He cut himself short as his gaze turned introspective. "... Ah."

Jim couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Are you sure you want to avoid talking to him? It seems useful," he teased.

Spock suddenly looked annoyed, but didn't seem to have heard Jim’s comment. Instead, he was openly glaring at the floor. After a beat, he closed his eyes tightly and tilted his head. And when he looked up to the window again, he was as straight-faced and calm-looking as ever.

“Are you alright?”

“I am functional, albeit significantly less so than usual.”

“‘I've been better,’” Jim translated with a half-smile.

Spock raised an eyebrow in response. “In regards to your question, Jim, the current situation is indeed not unlike a meld. However, even a meld can be difficult to return from if it is sustained for an extended period of time or if two minds are uniquely compatible.”

“And what two minds are more compatible than two of the same mind,” Jim mused. Spock nodded. “And you can't just… un-meld? Meld with old-Spock’s body and return from it like normal?”

“Unfortunately, it is not so simple. If you recall, I explained that the Ambassador’s _katra_ had been transferred into my mind. This is where our memory-recall analogy falls short, as the primary way that the sharing of katra differs from a meld is that it is not only select thoughts or feelings that are shared, but the entire consciousness.

Our katra is the sum of all that we are -- it does not separate from our body with the intention of ever being returned to it. Instead, it is the Vulcan way to entrust our katra to someone close to us upon death, if time permits us. It is completely severed when moved and is meant to be then transferred into a katric arc and kept among a family's dead, similar to a Terran mausoleum. Only those trained in transferring katras to katric arcs are even theoretically capable of replacing one to its body.”

Jim felt his stomach drop.

“‘Theoretically’?”

Spock looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes. There is no record of it having been done before.”

Fighting back the nervous energy that electrified him again, Jim glared at a nondescript point in their digital starscape for a moment. “And you're _sure_ you're okay going to Kestar instead of heading straight for New Vulcan?”

“As inconvenient as the situation is, it is not a life-threatening condition and therefore is not sufficient cause for diverting the ship, according to regulations.”

“I'm sure Bones and M’benga could make a case.”

“Nevertheless, I am capable of carrying out my duties and therefore wish to do so.”

Jim sighed loudly. “Well, I can't argue with that.”

They both turned to the viewscreen yet again and stood in contemplative silence for some time. Jim hated feeling useless. It made him feel restless, as it had when Spock was still in his coma, as it had when he couldn't get Spock on the comm. But standing here in a private observation room looking out at the stars with Spock at his side, he felt the bulk of his nervous energy subside. Spock seemed fine, after all. And he really couldn't fault him for wanting to work -- Jim was the same way after a stay in sickbay. There was nothing for it, then, but to trust Spock and get through Kestar as quickly as possible.

“Jim. If I may….” Spock calmly interrupted the silence. “You mentioned that Lt. Uhura directed you to this part of the ship. Did she say why?”

“‘Why’? No. We were just looking for you.”

“I see.” He continued staring out into the sea of stars. “It is simply that I have not told anyone else that I frequent this area of the ship. It is not generally a space I share with others. Nyota found me here by coincidence -- we were both attempting to come to terms with the fall of Vulcan toward the beginning of our relationship. We… consoled each other here. But in the two years hence, she has never again intruded upon me in this space. It seems very curious, then, that she should send you here.”

There was a question in there. Jim heard it even through the blood pounding in his ears from the sudden feeling of guilt. _Intruded_ ….

“I’d just remembered that you’re scheduled to lead the briefing tomorrow and wondered if you wanted me to cover for you while you recuperated. I guess I kind of freaked when you didn’t answer your comm and weren’t with Uhura. I thought maybe you relapsed into your coma or something,” he explained, feeling foolish. “And Uhura must have felt bad for me and just let me know where you were. I'm pretty sure she was laughing at me, now that I think about it….”

Spock tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? I assure you, Captain, that I am more than capable of reviewing the information at the briefing tomorrow. Your concern is unnecessary.” He turned to fully face Jim, “But, thank you.”

And he smiled.

Stars have mercy on James Tiberius Kirk’s racing heart, Spock **_smiled_** at him in that calm way that only barely shows on his mouth but absolutely floods his eyes. Jim has seen that smile a hundred times. But it is usually muted by wrinkles and creases and comes to him from across light years via comm signal. Or it is shadowed and cloudy, appearing in the strange memory of a memory that comes from across universes and plays with his sleeping mind. Jim has never seen it clearly, directly, or strengthened by the vibrancy of youth.

And there went any hope for him leaving this conversation with his pride intact.

Jim shook himself from his momentary bewilderment, laughed, and struck Spock on the shoulder in his friendly way. "Hey, that's what I'm here for."

Spock bowed his head, as was his usual response to Jim's displays of camaraderie, but his eyes lingered on Jim's face quizzically.

Fighting back the ridiculous paranoia that his feelings had been written clear across his face earlier, Jim widened his smile. “Something wrong?” That sounded innocent enough, right?

“No, I apologize. The Ambassador was merely… amused, for some reason.”

Oh no.

Everything _had_ been written on his face.

It hadn't been noticed by their resident Vulcan who only had a few years experience with humans. But it certainly must have been seen by the one who had more than 100 years to perfect reading humans. More than half a century to perfect reading Jim, in particular.

And he already knew Jim's feelings anyway.

He knew Jim's feelings and now he was **_in Spock’s head_ **.

“You're not memory swapping, right!?” Jim blurted. “It's not good for your health!”

Spock blinked. “As I explained, it would not be…”

“No mind-gossiping about your captain,” Jim cut him off. “Old Spock likes me -- I've told him all the _good_ stories about our missions and I don't want you telling him about all the times I screwed up, okay?” he joked, hoping desperately that his nonsensical rambling would distract Spock sufficiently from any unfortunate revelations.

“I would not- . You talk with the Ambassador often?”

Well, that red herring backfired.

“Oh, you know. From time to time.” He started backing away toward the door. “Well, I should probably be heading back. Thanks for the biology crash course, Spock. Spocks. Both of you. See you at the briefing!”

With that he was out the door, and Spock was left blinking after him, reeling with the illogical end to their discussion and the persistent echo of chuckling at the back of his mind.

 

~*~

 

Jim awoke the next morning surprisingly well rested considering the state his heart had been in the night before. And so he felt quite at ease as he strode into the briefing room with the rest of his senior staff. Spock stood at the foot of the table looking every bit the impeccable first officer, none of the previous evening’s heightened emotions showing through at all. And as Jim took his seat across the long table from Spock, brief eye contact and a casual nod put to rest the louder doubts about Spock’s condition -- at least for the time being.

“Alright, crew,” he called to order, “Kestar II. I cannot stress enough how important it is that this mission be completed as quickly and efficiently as possible. Remember, the faster we get this done, the faster we can get Spock and the Ambassador to New Vulcan for healing. So I don’t care how routine it is, I want your undivided attention during this briefing. Understood?” An earnest round of acknowledgement and Jim motioned to Spock. “Very good. Then, Mr. Spock, if you please.”

“Certainly, Captain. As you all have read, Kestar II is a class M planet featuring a single large continent and several uninhabited islands. Vast mountain ranges spanning the western half of the main continent allowed a stable temperate zone to develop on the eastern plains where the planet’s sole homonid civilization now thrives as a world government. They are recently capable of warp technology and dilithium trade with the Federation, making our mission here one of a diplomatic nature….”

 

Jim had been right -- the mission and its briefing were nothing new. He knew that each of his senior staff had read the materials before the meeting and was already aware of exactly what was required from their departments. But he was proud to see them listening intently to Spock’s overview nonetheless.

 

“... We are to be present for negotiations in a show of good faith and professionalism, as per Federation standards. The captain and first officer will be beaming to the surface for the talks. As lieutenants Uhura and Sulu were on duty for the previous diplomatic function at Deep Space 3, Commander Scott and Lt. Commander McCoy are to accompany the landing party as representatives of the senior staff….”

 

Jim glanced around the table. Sulu was studiously taking further notes, Uhura had supplemented her PADD with extra data on local sociolinguistics, even Bones was following along without so much as a scowl on his face. Jim, himself, had read the briefing in its entirety 5 times since Spock demanded that it take priority over New Vulcan.

 

“... The world government is considered mostly stable and internal dissent regarding the alliance with the Federation has been deemed unlikely….”

 

He’d be dammed if he was going to let anything delay them.

 

“... It would be prudent, however, to remain cognizant of the tumultuous split between the space-faring world government and the pre-industrialized underground community.”

 

Jim nearly dropped his PADD.

 

Pre-industrialized underground?! How the hell had he overlooked-

But before he buried his face in his notes, he noticed the rest of the room doing just that. Sulu’s stylus stalled over the screen looking to highlight the relevant information, Uhura’s extra data chips were scattered as she rushed to find what she’d missed, and Bones’ scowl was back with a vengeance.

Even Spock paused, looking down at his PADD for the first time during his lecture.

Jim cleared his throat into the silence. “I know not everyone thinks I studied diligently the Academy, but I definitely did the required reading for class today, Professor,” he joked. “And I don’t remember anything about a socio-technological split.” Humor was a good way to diffuse this awkwardness, right? … Right?

Spock’s eyes rose to meet his from across the room. “Indeed, Captain. I must admit that I, too, am at a loss to explain my mistake. Forgive me.”

Jim’s heart rate jumped with an anxious rush of adrenaline. He saw the same emotion bloom over Uhura’s face and saw Bones shift to stand. He waved Bones down and smiled calmly in spite of his own unease.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Spock. But I know you’re not prone to the same slip-ups as we humans.” He paused to lock eyes with Spock before saying firmly, “And I’m not willing to overlook _anything_ that might cause delays in this mission. I’m not taking any chances.”

The room was still for several moments as Jim and Spock continued to stare intently at each other. Jim needed Spock to understand… something. His dedication? His motivation? His...

“Give me your best guess as to where you heard this information, Mr. Spock.”

Spock dropped his eyes in contemplation and maybe if Jim hadn’t have been watching him so steadily he might have missed what looked like a split second of embarrassment on the Vulcan’s face. “Perhaps it is in some way related to my condition after rescuing the Ambassador.”

No amount of wordless gesturing from Jim could have stopped Bones from jumping up to Spock with a Tricorder then, and Jim couldn’t say that he didn’t appreciate that fact. Still, he only evenly stared down his First. “Explain.”

“It is merely that my thoughts and memories are not as ordered as they would be normally, due to the presence of a foreign mind occupying my own. It is entirely possible that I simply confused the information with that of other missions as, like you said, humans are ‘prone’ to do.”

“But we’ve never encountered a planet with such a drastic technology gap as the one you described, even on our other missions.”

“True. However, it is not inconceivable that I may have read about such a situation on record. Indeed, even Earth’s own history saw such developmental gulfs before the rise of its own world government.”

“Aye, tha’s true,” Scotty put in. “When man first walked on Luna, there were people still using stone spears on Earth!”

Jim nodded thoughtfully and looked back to Spock, who was stoically enduring -- or functionally ignoring -- Bones’ continued scanning. “And you think this is the case on Kestar II?”

Spock opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, reconsidering. “It is not supported by any of the data we have received in our mission materials. It is, therefore, highly illogical to draw such a conclusion. However... it is also not impossible.”

Jim sighed. The fact that Spock wasn’t willing to shoot down the absurd theory outright spoke of something ominous. They really… _really_ didn’t need this right now. Not only could political tensions compromise the mission, but seeing Spock struggle with his mind was likely to compromise Jim. He just needed Kestar II to be finished as soon as possible….

“Alright. We’ll run with this. We’re taking absolutely no chances,” he reiterated and motioned to his staff for discussion. “So, tumultuous relationship with an underground movement. Pre-industrialized. An anti-tech movement?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “A plausible scenario.”

“Kestaran culture places a great deal of emphasis on the benefits of technological advancement.” Uhura looked hesitant and somewhat unconvinced as she referenced her extra files, “Much of their media contains optimistic themes of industrialization and economic growth. Their proposal for Federation citizenship heavily featured the medical and industrial breakthroughs that allowed them to raise their global standard of living and solidify their world government. _If_ a technophobic undercurrent exists, it at least has plenty to be opposed to.”

“Any anti-tech movements wouldn’t be keen on interstellar trade,” Sulu added. “We might expect protests at the diplomatic functions, at best. Terrorist activity, at worst.”

“Alright,” Jim said, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the beginnings of a headache. “We’ll take a small security team in dress uniforms, then.”

Bones dropped his scanner to the table. “Now wait just a minute there, Jim! Terrorist activity? There’s absolutely nothing about that in our materials! Don’t you think you’re jumpin’ off the deep end with Spock’s memory lapse? You know what kind of state he’s in! Hell, I’ve half a mind to take you _both_ down to Sickbay for examination. I’m surprised you even let him-”

“That’s enough, Doctor!” Jim barked. Bones straightened stiffly. “Your medical opinion has been noted. However, I’m willing to treat this as if it were the intuition of any of the other member of my staff.” He forced a smile, “And you know how much I get off on intuition.”

Sulu choked back a chuckle and Scotty and Uhura shared an amused glance.

“At any rate, a security team won't hurt anything. It just covers one more base,” Jim continued. “How long until arrival at Kestar II, Mr. Sulu?”

“We’ll be in a standard orbit at 1030 hours ship’s time and ready to beam down a party as soon as you’re finished with the greeting transmission, sir.”

“Very good. In the meantime let's finish up preparations. You all know what needs to be done. Let's get this mission over with quickly. Dismissed.”

Amid the clattering of everyone collecting their materials and heading out the door, Jim made eye contact with Spock to hold him back. Bones, too, appeared to be collecting his things rather more slowly than the others. Once the room had emptied, Jim strode over to Spock who, for his part, looked perfectly fine. Jim wished that could put his mind at ease.

“I'm only gonna ask this once,” Jim said, proud that his voice maintained it's authoritative tone in the face of his own uncertainty. “Do you need medical leave from this mission?”

“No, sir,” came Spock’s quick reply. “I apologize for my lapse earlier but I will spend the remaining hours in further meditation and thus will be able to easily perform my duties at the diplomatic function.”

Jim’s gaze danced between of Spock's eyes, looking for any sign of weakness that would mean Jim should go with his gut instead of letting Spock decide. When he found nothing, he sighed.

“You're a very stubborn man,  Mr. Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

A brief laugh burst from Jim and he shook his head in defeat.

“Alright, then. Dismissed, Commander. I'll see you in the transporter room at 1100 hours.”

Spock left without comment and Jim leaned heavily on the briefing room table. Bones appeared in his periphery and he sighed again. “Lecture time, Doctor?”

Bones seemed to hesitate, glowering at Jim for a second more before replying. “What are you gonna do if he mucks up this mission?”

“Oh, come on, Bones! What's he gonna do? Forget the Kestaran president's birthday?”

“We’ve gotten into tight spaces over less before, and you know it. Remember the time you bowed to the left instead of the right on Dunthin?”

“You are never going to let that one go are you?”

“Or the time you sat one seat too far from the priestess on Gasfel 4?”

“Yeah yeah, you've made your point.”

“Or the time you looked at the Duchess’ pet fish-thing wrong on Cyprix?”

“Why am _I_ the only one in all these examples? I seem to recall a certain mess at your hands, Mr. If-it's-edible-I’ll-eat-it McCoy.” Jim jabbed a finger playfully at Bones who raised his hands in mock surrender.

“All I'm saying is you never know what’ll set the locals off. And you're okay with sending a confused Vulcan into the fray?”

“He made _one_ mistake, Bones! And he even recognized it right away. He’s not incapable. So unless you can tell me your scans found something dangerously wrong with him, I'm gonna trust Spock when he says he's fine.”

“You know full well I'd have Spock strapped to a biobed by his ears if I had concrete evidence of any problems,” Bones muttered.

“Exactly. So let's just all go down to the planet and play nice so we can get him to New Vulcan asap.”

Bones grumbled in begrudging agreement and turned to gather his things. Just before he reached the door, Jim called out to him.

“Help me keep an eye on him down there, will ya?”

Bones rolled his eyes dramatically. “As if I'd ignore the well-being of anyone on these damn escapades.”

 

~*~

 

4 hours later, Jim was standing tall in his dress uniform, trading grins with the amiable Kestaran president over the viewscreen.

“Captain Kirk!” the president's warm voice boomed over the intercom, “Welcome! Welcome to Kestar! I am so glad you and your crew have arrived!” The man’s eyes sparkled with unrestrained excitement and the full silver beard and matching hair that framed his dark brown face danced with every energetic nod of his head. Jim was suddenly reminded of Santa Claus from old Earth folklore and smiled even more.

“President Binvari. We’re excited to be here.”

“It is a pleasure! An absolute pleasure! I trust your journey here was pleasant?”

 _It could have been a little_ less _fraught with dangers to my crew and friends_ , Jim thought. “It was as pleasant as any  journey through space, Mr. President,” he replied civilly instead.

“Ohh, you must tell me all about it! Come, come, my new friends! When can we expect you from your ship?”

Jim chuckled good-humoredly at the president’s enthusiasm. “Our party has assembled and is merely awaiting orders. We will be down as soon as your people transmit the coordinates for our transporters.”

“Very good, very good! I shall have them sent straight away! Oh, I am so very excited!”

The transmission ended abruptly as the president bounded out of frame and the bridge crew broke into affectionate titters.

“I think that might have been the friendliest transmission I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing,” Uhura shook her head, bemused.

“He is quite ze character! Reminds me of my dedushka!” Chekov laughed.

“Looks like it’ll be a lively dinner, at least,” Sulu grinned as he swiveled in his chair to face Jim.

“That sounds perfect,” Jim said as he turned toward the turbolift. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. Lt. Uhura, patch those coordinate down to the transporter room as soon as you get them. I’ll see you all in a few hours!”

Down in the transporter room, Spock, McCoy, and Scotty were waiting with the small security team, all dressed in their best and ready to beam down. Jim nodded as he hopped onto the transporter pad with them. “President Binvari is one heck of a friendly guy. I get the feeling this dinner will be a piece of cake.”

“Captain, I believe more than just a desert will be served during the course of the meal,” Spock commented smoothly.

Both Jim’s hearty laughter and Bones’ melodramatic groan faded with them as they beamed to the planet.

 

~*~

 

Everyone knows the transporters can be a bit of a shock to any species that encounters them for the first time. It’s not unusual for locals to gape and gawk as a bunch of aliens materialize in front of them. Maybe that’s why Jim just smiled pleasantly and raised a hand in greeting to the group of wide-eyed Kestarans and didn’t really catch on to the fact that something might be wrong until he felt a sharp pinprick of pain and looked down to find a dart protruding from his bicep.

Dizziness slammed into him like a freighter and everything around him seemed to grind to a sickening crawl.  He tumbled sideways slowly, shouts and phaser fire echoing as if from underwater as blackness crept up to obscure his vision.

Damn it, they really didn’t have time for this….


	5. Chapter 4

Perhaps waking up disoriented would have been more unnerving if Spock had not, in fact, woken disoriented every time he had meditated since waking up in sickbay. Which, incidentally, was a fair number of times. In fact, the unfamiliar rough-hewn stone walls that he saw upon opening his eyes were almost more centering than the sight of his own quarters. He did not have to struggle with the feeling that they should look like anything else but the stone walls of an unfamiliar cave. And so they were.

Pain ricocheted through his skull as he tried to sit up. He winced and the lingering effects of the drug weighed down his limbs as he slowly put a hand to the back of his head. It came away tacky with green blood and he finally remembered the ambush.

Almost immediately upon materializing on the planet into the midst of a crowd of awe-struck Kestarans, Spock had felt a quiet inward groan breeze through the back of his mind. He had found himself exceedingly frustrated by the fact that, although he’d just spent several hours in meditation strengthening his shields, he could still hear echos of his counterpart's thoughts. He was distracted by that annoyance for mere moments. Yet mere moments was all it took.

He had seen Jim list and collapse, gripping a dart lodged in his upper arm, and the scene had erupted into chaos as Kestarans and Terrans alike drew their weapons. McCoy had leapt forward with a yell in an attempt to catch their falling captain but caught a dart in the shoulder, himself. Spock spun to determine the origin of the projectiles only to take one in his left thigh and another in his right arm. Having spotted one of the Kestarans with a blowgun in his mouth, he'd lunged forward past one of the falling security guards and made to disarm the assailant when a second Kestaran cracked him over the head with a hefty staff and he’d crumpled to the ground. His vision momentarily whited out from pain but he felt several more darts pierce his muscles. Evidently, whatever drug had subdued his human crewmates had not worked as efficiently on his Vulcan philology, but after numerous extra hits he, too, had been swallowed by the darkness.

Now, with a quiet groan, he sat up and leaned heavily against one of the stone walls to survey his surroundings. A small hole in the wall graced the room with enough light for him to make out the entire away team strewn haphazardly on the floor and thick metal bars embedded in the far wall spanning the only exit. His gaze finally fell on the captain, who was watching him from the floor by his feet with cloudy, lidded eyes, obviously in the process of rousing as well.

“‘as a tra’?” Jim gurgled, his face still pressed against the ground. Spock looked on dazedly, not understanding. Jim scrunched his face and cleared his throat before trying again. “Trap.”

“It would appear so,” Spock said, sluggishly drawing the words together. “There must have been... some form of general anesthetic on the weapons the Kestarans wielded.”

Jim groaned. “Issill ca’move…”

“I, too, remain unable to control my body efficiently.”

“Thin’ my arm hur’s. Can’tell, though.” Indeed, lying prone with his right arm bent awkwardly beneath his torso, Jim looked like he would likely be in pain if he could feel his extremities. With a good deal of effort, Spock pushed himself from the wall and onto his knees so he could rearrange Jim’s slack body. His own unresponsive arms fumbled with the task and during the process of getting Jim on his back with his arms on his chest, Jim’s head lolled to the side facing the far wall. Spock reached to turn his head, placing a careful hand on the side of his face, only to be singed by white-hot flames erupting through his fingers and leaping along the length of his arm. He tore his hand away with a shudder, accidentally spinning Jim’s head so fast that it knocked against the floor.

Spock attempted to apologize, but little more than a gasp escaped his lips as he curled around his arm. The afterimage of fire danced behind his eyelids and across his mind, stirring that which he had momentarily forgotten to be concerned about.

{ _You injured him,_ } the elder said without reproach as he seemed to wake.

[ _I would not have if your katra did not prevent me from maintaining even my most basic shields,_ ] Spock hissed, still attempting to quell his shivering.

The Ambassador raised a mental eyebrow. { _We are also compromised by the anesthetic but now is hardly the time for such idle blame. He is bleeding._ }

Spock tensed once more, inhaling deeply through his nose, and opened his eyes. Jim was staring wide-eyed, a small gash trickling blood above his left brow.

“I would say ‘ow’ except it looks like that somehow hurt you more,” Jim said. “And at any rate the knock seemed to clear my head quite a bit.”

“I apologize, Captain.” Spock pulled the sleeve of his uniform up to cover his sensitive hands and dab away the blood and dirt from Jim’s superficial wound.

“What happened, exactly?” Jim asked, “You looked like you were burned. Are you okay?”

“My touch telepathy is impaired due to my current state and the added impact of the Kestaran drug. Normally I can block the vast majority of electrical signals transferred through average skin contact but raw signals unfiltered through basic mental shielding can be painful.” He avoided the second question.

“Shit,” Jim said with wide-eyed interest. Then his eyes sharpened and he repeated the curse in anger. “Shit! We need to get you out of here!” He struggled to move against his chemical restraints.

{ _He will tire himself,_ } Spock heard the whispered admonishment.

“Captain, please remain calm. You will only grow wearier by forcing the recovery from the anesthesia. Let your body adjust naturally and then we may attempt escape.”

Jim groaned dramatically. “Why did this have to happen now!? What even happened? All I remember is some confused looking locals and a dart in my arm.”

“We were attacked upon beaming to the planet. The Kestarans we encountered did not appear to be expecting us. I apologize, Captain. I would have drawn your attention to it immediately had I not been distracted by- .”

The groan.

[ _You knew,_ ] he stated.

{ _... I did._ }

[ _The reason I misspoke during the briefing…. It was because I inadvertently accessed your memories of this same planet._ ]

{ _Yes._ } He could feel the soft brush of an apology but ignored it.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice pulled him from his head.

“The Ambassador recognized the Kestarans when we arrived. His reaction distracted me during the moment we were first attacked.”

“He _recognized_ them?” Jim's eyes hardened. “Wait, don't tell me…. Your Pre-industrialized underground?” Spock nodded, unsure if the shame he felt was his or the elder's. “And he didn't warn us directly because of his promise to not interfere by giving us ‘future knowledge.’”

{ _Precisely,_ } the Ambassador admitted, but Spock did not relay it. Jim did not seem to expect a response and instead sighed heavily and turned his face to the ceiling with his eyes closed.

“That sucks, old man!” he said slightly louder, as if forgetting the Ambassador could hear him just as well as Spock could.

{ _Forgive me, old friend._ } A quiet sadness bled through Spock’s mind and stole his attention from the fact that Jim appeared to be regaining some degree of motor function. “I am sorry” fell from his lips without his consent and he found himself momentarily concerned that it did not nearly convey the feelings in his head before he was able to focus on the fact that he had not intended to say anything of the kind.

Jim sighed again and returned his gaze to his First Officer. “It's not your fault.”

[ _No, it is not,_ ] Spock agreed coolly.

“Neither one of yours,” Jim continued. “I know what a stickler you two are about the Prime Directive. And you're right, I don't want all the answers. Plus you said yourself that sharing info could be dangerous for the two of you. I just wish we could get you both to New Vulcan asap. Argh, just... Both of you stay safe in the meantime, okay?”

" _{Y_ Y _e_ e _s_ s _,_ , _J_ s _i_ i _m_ r _.}_." Spock felt the sudden urge to- But then the feeling was gone, dragged back surreptitiously behind the veil that the Ambassador had created at the far edge of his mind before he could identify it. His hand twitched with the shadow of the impulse, but he continued to pretend not to notice the elder's hidden corner. He continued along his previous train of thought, instead. "You seem to have regained control over your neck muscles. How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, yeah," Jim rotated his head and wiggled his fingers, testing the movements. "We'll be out of here in no time." He winked at Spock before turning to take in the small cell for the first time. "Where is 'here,' anyway?"

"Unknown. As far as I can discern, it is a cave of solid rock. The texture of the walls seems to indicate it was carved out by tools, and there are metal bars, and likely a door, affixed to the exit on the far side of the room. There is a small window of light approximately 2.3 meters above my head which would indicate we are not entirely underground. Aside from that light source, there appears to be firelight down the tunnel running perpendicular to the entrance of this room from which we can infer that there is little other natural light in that direction. As such I would speculate that we are in the side of a mountain."

"Gotta love those Vulcan eyes," Jim forced a laugh. "And is everyone here?"

"All seven members of the away team are accounted for, if not yet conscious. We also appear to have been stripped of our phasers and communicators."

"Great. So, mountain. Why? We were supposed to be beaming down to the Kestaran president's dinner party. Civilization is in the east. How did we end up in the west? Surely we weren't unconscious for long enough to be dragged across the continent."

"Indeed not. Perhaps there was a mistake in the coordinates. It would explain why the Kestarans we encountered did not seem to be waiting for us."

"You don't suspect foul play?"

"No, sir."

"So we _accidentally_ beamed down into the middle of a pre-industrialized culture who now have our comms and phasers."

"Perhaps."

"Spock."

"Sir?"

"We are absolutely terrible at maintaining the Prime Directive."

"Yes, you are," Spock said with a tilt of his head and the tiniest quirk of his lips.

Jim's bright laughter peeled throughout the dark chamber and reverberated pleasantly in Spock's warped mindscape. A warmth rose from the depths to meet it -- the midday sun....

"Dammit, Jim! What in blue blazes could you possibly be laughing at in this situation?"

"Bones!" Jim called elatedly.

"If you hit your head, kid, I swear..." McCoy's angry muttering danced across the cave. "Gosh darn it! Why can't I move!?"

Spock was confused as other how the Ambassador could seem to laugh so fondly while all he could do was mentally sigh in resignation at the doctor's colorful return to consciousness.

 ~*~

 Within approximately 20 minutes, all members of the away team had awoken and the majority of them had regained full mobility. Jim had scoped out the window, which turned out to be a natural crevice running through the nearly meter thick rock wall, while Spock and the security officers had tested the durability of the bars in the mouth of the cave to find them resilient to even his Vulcan strength. Everyone regrouped in the center of the room, hunching slightly to avoid the low-hanging ceiling.

"No one's come tae check on us," Mr. Scott pointed out with suspicion.

"And we haven't exactly been the quietest bunch," McCoy added.

"There's no way they could be watching us secretly. Aside from the window and the mouth of the cave, there aren't any other ways to look into the room," said one of the security officers, Deluce.

"They took our technology," Jim said thoughtfully. "Maybe they're stuck trying to figure it out."

Spock nodded. "Since we brought only type-1 phasers, it will be difficult for them to understand their operation even though they would have discerned their function during our skirmish. And the communicators will likely be so far removed from anything they have seen as to prove incomprehensible. Once they have exhausted their resources on that front, they will likely question us directly."

"How are we going to play this, then?" Jim asked. "If this is the pre-industrialized counter-culture, should we play it off as-"

Spock thrust a hand forward to cut Jim off when he heard the low rumble of a large stone being deliberately moved and subsequent footsteps from down the tunnel. "Someone is coming," he whispered in response to the quizzical stares he received from Jim and the others.

Jim's expression smoothed into calm authority once more and he stepped forward to stand between his crew and the metal gate. Spock naturally took his place beside him and he heard the rest of the crew arrange themselves behind them so they stood cohesive when the group of Kestarans finally came into sight.

The low ceilings of the caves suddenly made perfect sense when faced with their captors. Averaging around 150cm tall, these Kestarans were shorter and stockier than the race they had intended to meet in the city. They were also noticeably lighter-skinned. Their thigh-length tunics were embroidered with bold, precise geometric designs and were cinched about their waists. Four of them carried lanterns to light their way and were armed with spears and clubs. In the middle of them stood three more figures with intricately pierced ears, two of whom carried a few of the away team's phasers and communicators. They remained attentively behind the third who stood with a calm air of command. All seven of them carefully watched the jailed away team.

"Can you understand my words, ogres?" the leader asked, her voice clear and composed. Spock was relieved to notice that their universal translators, which Uhura had programmed with the Kestaran language before arrival, seemed to have no trouble with whatever dialect she may have been using.

"We can," Jim replied calmly. "My name is James. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

Perhaps Spock had been too quick to praise the UT because despite Jim's politeness the leader's eyes widened incredulously and the rest of the Kestaran party bristled. "I would speak to your leader... _James_ ," she said kindly and with a small quirk of her lips, as if she were addressing a zealous child.

Jim took it in stride, smiling back just as warmly. "I am the leader."

Every set of Kestaran eyes darted to Spock quizzically, then back to Jim. "Indeed? But the one behind you is the tallest, strongest, and has the most ornamentation in the ears and brow. Certainly it must be the head of your horde?"

Only Spock's Vulcan hearing could have picked up McCoy's muttering from behind him; "Those damned ears always draw attention...."

"That is Spock. He is second in command under me." Jim said evenly, causing another strange ripple of surprise to dance through the Kestarans, this one significantly more overt. The four guards traded glances amongst themselves as the two other central figures turned to whisper urgently to one another, but the head woman maintained quizzical eye-contact with Jim.

"You give his name for him?" she asked, her voice dancing with genuine curiosity.

"I... I'm sorry I don't understand. 'Give his name'?"

The woman shook her head slightly, looking perplexed and strangely entertained. "You give his name," she repeated unhelpfully before attempting to reword it for the obviously confused-looking away team. "Tell it to others. Share it before he does."

Hesitant to agree with something he did not fully understand but apparently unable to find an alternative, he nodded slowly. "I do."

The immediate uproar from the Kestarans caused the away team to flinch, dropping into defensive positions instinctively. Only the Kestaran leader remained composed as she motioned for silence, eyes sweeping over the prisoners in unmistakable interest.

Spock rushed to attempt to understand what conclusion the Kestarans had drawn but felt himself mentally stumble over the mess of confused information in his mind. He chased one train of thought after another only to be cut off by strange intersections of memory or by the remnants of foreign shields... He was also vaguely aware of the Ambassador quietly extending his veil to hide what Spock could only assume was relevant information from the other universe. He cursed inwardly.

Soon, though, the Kestaran party stilled and resumed staring incredulously through the bars. The leader returned her gaze to Jim.

"Ogres do not give their names to each other," she said matter-of-factly.

Jim pounced on the opening with a kind smile, keen on turning whatever misunderstanding they'd had to their advantage. "What makes you so sure we are ogres, then?"

She laughed suddenly with cordial amusement and although they did not understand the shift in atmosphere, the away team relaxed slightly. "You appear out of thin air among our hunters," she gestured to her guards. "You disable them with weapons of light that do not wound," she waved her other hand to the load her attendants bore. "And you mean to tell me you are not ogres? Perhaps you are from the flatlands for they can be as tall as you and indeed have the most impressive technologies, but even they are not resilient to the pomplin extract. Nor," she paused with emphasis, her bright eyes settling heavily on Spock, "do they bleed green."

Spock raised an eyebrow and returned her gaze but did not speak. Her conclusion was eminently logical, given the parameters of whatever native mythology may exist on the planet regarding "ogres." He saw Jim turn to him and their eyes locked for an instant. Spock could not begin to read the blank eyes in Jim's façade, but Jim seemed to come to a decision anyway and he turned back to face the Kestarans.

"What do you know about the people who live in the flatlands?" Jim asked in his most pleasant and unassuming voice.

The Kestaran woman looked taken aback by the tangent, but apparently decided to humor Jim -- Spock found himself impressed by her general air of curiosity in the face of what her culture clearly saw as dangerous monsters. "Their cities are visible on the horizon but we are not permitted to visit them. Nor do they come to us although with their flying vehicles they could no doubt make the trip incredibly quickly. All that we know of them comes from observation and stories of before The Grand Order."

Spock heard McCoy whisper "'not permitted?'" before another of the party, likely Mr. Scott beside him, shushed him subtly. Jim merely cocked his head slightly and sidestepped the new information as he prodded again, "You mentioned they have impressive technologies? Like what?"

Spock suddenly realized what Jim's aim was and his eyes shot to the Kestaran woman for her reaction. The others in her party began whispering to each other again, looking more desperate and confused the longer she appeared to be considering her reply. Which was, indeed, quite a long set of moments during which she was overtly sizing Jim up more than she had done during their entire interrogation -- judging his motives, inferring his trustworthiness, weighing her options. When at last she spoke, she seemed heedless of the tension.

"There are stories from before The Grand Order that tell of medicines which seem to cure everything but death itself. They have the tools and materials to build the huge structures we see on the horizon. They never come to the most plentiful of hunting grounds so they must have other means to procure enough food for everyone in their vast cities. They use flying vehicles to traverse the distances between their cities and we have even seen some of them fly straight into the very sky."

[ _There!_ ]

"Into the sky?" Jim confirmed.

"Yes, but what has this to do with og-" She broke herself off with a quiet "ah!" and a small smile. Spock marveled at her keen judgments and swift leaps of logic. "You are from the sky!"

"Got it in one," Jim winked at her. She spun on her heel and the others scattered to make room as she paced to the far wall and back in thought, fingers playing over her lips excitedly.

Jim turned to Spock, the majority of his diplomat's mask discarded in favor of his usual warmth, and shrugged an apology. Perhaps he thought Spock would be disappointed by yet another breach of protocol, but instead Spock found that he was more in awe of Jim's skillful manipulation of the pieces to have them land exactly where they benefited him the most. If he still found himself amazed by his captain even after serving with him for three years, he wondered if Jim would ever cease to impress him. A quiet chuckle at the back of his mind seemed to indicate that he would not.

The Kestaran woman abruptly stopped pacing and dashed up to the bars of the cell. "My name is Merryn!" she all but yelled at them.

The Kestarans screamed.

They flattened themselves even further against the stone walls of the cave and shielded their eyes as if they expected her to erupt into flame.

A pregnant pause stole the room and Jim allowed himself a confused glance at Spock before covering it with the brilliant smile he turned on the woman. "Nice to meet you, Merryn."

She nodded and dropped her eyes to look herself over, as if checking to see that she was uninjured. After a beat when she apparently decided that she was, in fact, still alive, she returned a radiant grin to Jim.

"Do you know why ogres don't give their names to each other, James?"

"I must admit that I do not."

"Because ogres can only kill if they know their victim’s name!" She exclaimed cheerfully.

Exactly where they benefited him the most, indeed. 

~*~

Although Merryn was apparently convinced that the away team was not a threat, the others had not looked altogether satisfied and proceeded to essentially drag Merryn back down the tunnels while she assured Jim that she would return later with food. Spock heard the distant stone door roll shut which left them in privacy once again.

“Well,” Jim opened casually. “I think that went pretty well considering first contact resulted in imprisonment.”

McCoy groaned.

“Aye, but Captain… Didnae ye go against the Prime Directive by telling ‘em we’re not from this planet?”

“Ah, but Mr. Scott, you'll notice that I didn't!” Jim grinned. “Merryn came to the conclusion on her own.”

“Hardly, Jim! Forget 'counter-culture,' these people look like they just stepped out of the Stone Age! They’re not space-faring.”

“Actually, Doctor,” Spock cut in, “This group of Kestarans more closely resembles Earth’s Bronze Age.”

“Metallurgy still doesn’t mean spaceflight, Spock.”

“Indeed not. However, the captain was able to prove that these Kestarans are capable of understanding the principles of spaceflight on their own regardless of the fact that they are evidently not in possession of the post-warp technology that exists on this planet.”

“Sounds like another one of Jim’s cheap loopholes to me.”

“Quite. However it may also be considered another example of his ingenuity and resourcefulness which has bought us more time.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and Mr. Scott began coughing strangely, but Spock was significantly distracted by the bright smile Jim directed at him. His lack of focus was no doubt due to his precarious mental state, but he was not sure how to explain the sudden the skip in his heartbeat as he steadily returned his captain’s gaze.

“Well thank goodness ‘alien’ is a step up from ‘ogre’ for these people,” McCoy grumbled.

Jim laughed and turned back to the group, releasing Spock’s gaze . Curiously, Spock’s heart made a couple more small jumps before settling back into its normal rhythm. As he did not have the luxury of reflecting on his odd reaction at the moment, he refocused his attention on the conversation. However, there was little else for the team to discuss as they had not gained much more information about their captors during the course of their conversation. They bounced around questions regarding “The Grand Order” that Merryn mentioned and her admittance that her people were “not permitted” to visit the cities and decided that these Kestarans were not a "counter-culture" but a separate culture altogether. However, with little else to go on, further speculation would likely prove useless.

Throughout the discussions, Spock struggled with the sensation that he was forgetting something important. He realized it was likely because he _was_ , quite literally, being forced to forget the relevant information about the planet that was stored in his mind -- or more accurately, the information that was stored in the mind which currently overlaid his. Even though he understood the reasons for the Ambassador’s interference, the knowledge that it was happening still caused his skin to crawl. Once the conversation died down, he quietly excused himself, retreated to the back of the cave, and folded himself down into a light meditative pose. Meditation would not come here, nor was he sure it would help ameliorate his unease anyway, but the idea of removing other distractions in the meantime was a pleasant one. He sensed Jim and McCoy hovering silently just outside of his personal space, but did not bother asking them to leave. Some small part of… the Ambassador... found solace in their presence anyway. 

~*~ 

When, true to her word, Merryn returned later, Spock was pleased to realize he could tell it had been just less than two ship's hours. Surely if he could manage to keep accurate track of time, it was indicative of increasing control over his faculties. The Ambassador seemed to hum dubiously.

{ _Our sense of time likely would not have differed between us and therefore it may not have been damaged by a melding of our consciousnesses,_ } he predicted.

Spock grudgingly conceded to the Ambassador’s logic, but chose to ignore it as he stood to join the captain and the others in the center of the room.

This time Merryn was accompanied by two guards instead of four. The two previous attendants had been replaced by different couple whose elaborate ear piercings matched Merryn’s piece for piece. The three of them carried trays of food and pitchers of drink, their eyes dancing in interest over the away team just as Merryn’s had before. One of the guards subtly shifted his grip on his metal-tipped spear and angled it slightly toward the door as the other reached to unlock the gate, their cautious and distrustful gazes playing a fascinating counterpoint to the others’ lively interest.

Jim smiled, but seemed content to avoid speaking first as the Kestarans entered the room. Merryn and the other two pierced individuals stepped inside, setting the trays and pitchers at their own feet -- clearly not an invitation yet -- while the guards shut the gate behind them. Merryn grinned back at Jim and made a grand, open gesture with her hands. “I’ve brought food!”

“So you have,” Jim replied warmly. “Thank you, Merryn.”

She giggled triumphantly and shot thrilled glances over both her shoulders in turn to her companions. Spock was surprised to recognize this nonverbal display of excitement from his human teams in the science labs. It was commonly performed when an experiment was proving particularly stimulating and was often accompanied with excited exclamations of, “See!?” or, “Did you see that!?” The other two nodded at her, wide-eyed.

Merryn was quick to turn back to Jim. “These are my classmates.” She motioned to the woman on her right -- “This is Leader of the Second Circle.” -- then to the man on her left -- “And this is Leader of the Third Circle. Beyond the gate are Head and Second of the First Hunt. I am Leader of the First Circle, but we have already shared names. You may call me Merryn.”

The all bowed their heads slightly at their introductions but said nothing and the away team traded confused glances. Spock shifted so he was closer to Jim. “Titles, Captain,” he guessed in a whisper. Jim confirmed with a quick look before gesturing to the team.

“This is my crew. First Officer, Commander, Lt. Commander, and Ensigns. I am the captain. You may call me James.” Spock watched the Kestarans while Jim spoke and was relieved to notice that his hypothesis failed to be disproven -- the locals seemed much more at ease than when the captain had introduced Spock by name earlier.

Merryn looked positively elated. At least, Spock assumed that was the correct emotional description. It was the emotion on the faces of human cadets when they received their first assignments, of Mr. Scott when he completed a particularly diverting upgrade to the ship's engines, of his mother on his wedding day.

His -?!

The memory began to slip away to the back corner of his mind, and he instinctively clutched to it with reckless and ungainly desperation.

[ _Wait!_ ]

His mother…

{ _Spock…_ } came a soft reprimand.

His mother alive and well, creases of healthy age caressing her eyes and cheeks…

{ _Spock._ } Sterner. { _Now is not the time!_ }

His mother alive and well and _proud_ of him. Proud of him for how far he'd come, proud of him for finding balance and meaning and love with...

{ _ENOUGH!_ }

The Ambassador’s veil of a shield ignited and crashed down around the memory. Spock was shoved away with considerable force and jolted when he slammed back into the present.

Jim looked up at him curiously from where he and the others were settling down on the floor with the Kestarans and their food platters. He had apparently missed the invitation to sit. He did so quickly, attempting to bury the sudden disorientation, dysphoria, and shame.

 _[Now is not the time,]_ he echoed to himself. There was a dull throb in his head and a concerning ringing in his ears but _now was not the time_.

“Captain, if I may ask a question,” the man -- Leader of the Third Circle -- began, blessedly giving Spock an immediate distraction. "Your titles are unfamiliar to us. You are... hunters?”

“We are explorers.”

The Kestarans exchanged quizzical looks. "Scientists?” asked the Leader of the Second Circle. Spock hazily wondered if the UT was having difficulty.

“Some of us are scientists, yes,” Jim explained. “For example, Mr. Sp- my first officer.”

Three pairs of Kestaran eyes alighted on Spock. “Ah-ha!” cried Merryn. “Thus the ears!”

Spock blinked. “I beg your pardon?” His thoughts were blurred and his head was spinning but he wasn't sure he could have followed her thought process either way.

“Our scientists also decorate our ears,” she said, indicating the ornate collection of metal rings and clips that ran along the outside of her ears and the ears of the other two Leaders.

Spock raised an eyebrow, “Fascinating.” He heard Jim choke back a laugh.

Presumably to cover his tactless chuckling, Jim reached for the food -- an assortment of fruit and tubers. Much of the local flora had already been scanned and tested for compatibility with Federation species' digestive systems -- a routine measure before diplomatic functions -- but Spock had become accustomed to also mentally checking them against Jim's extensive list of allergies after several unfortunate incidents. But as he habitually glanced over the trays, he could remember... nothing.

A bolt of primal fear shot through him as he ran into mental block after mental block, unable to access anything in his mind beyond his most immediate thoughts and experiences. He tried to rein in his panic but it ran off with his heart rate.

"First officer?” one of the Kestarans asked. Who? Spock looked back up to them. Leader of the Second Circle looked confused and uncertain as she said, "I asked what your focus of study is...”

"I study…”

Nothing.

His mind was white. Nothing but raw consciousness and primitive stirrings of emotions that he suddenly had no means to control.

His hands were trembling in his lap.

“Spock?” Jim's voice.

“Captain. Jim, I…”

“Bones!”

A clatter of metal and frantic shuffling.

“Careful about touching him, he said telepathy hurts!”

“Spock? Can you hear me? Hey, now. I don't have a tricorder so I have to touch you, alright?”

Dull pressure on his arms, on his wrist, on his jaw, on the back of his head.

He felt nothing. Where was his telepathy? Where was his mind? Where was his body?

Displaced. Uprooted. Incongruous. Disconnected.

He was not where he belonged.

He had to return.

He slipped back…. 

~*~ 

“Please, Merryn. We need you to let us leave!” Jim said emphatically.

“Why? What is going on?”

“My first officer is injured. The Lt. Commander is a doctor but he needs his tools. They are on our ship -- our ‘flying vehicle.’” Jim spared half-a-thought to be feel relieved that he could remember all these communicative details even as he struggled to remain calm.

Dammit, he shouldn't have let Spock come!

Merryn spun to the guards at the door who shook their heads, wide eyed at the thought that she would even ask.

“They won't let you go…. Should we get our doctors?” she asked frantically.

“It won't help. Please, Merryn!”

She paced to the gate and back with her fingers playing over her lips again. “We have the tools we took from you when you arrived. Would those help?”

“We need some of them to contact our ship, yes.”

“Leader of the Second Circle," she called, “Retrieve the aliens’ tools from the Circle house.”

The woman confirmed and scampered out of the room.

“Jim,” Bones called him over and Jim knelt beside him. “He's put himself in another trance. His heart rate is back to Vulcan normal and his pupils are responding again. I'd still like to get a better look at the wound on his head but he looks stable for the moment.”

"I'm not sure if we can convince them to let us go back to the ship yet."

"Well this hole in the ground isn't a sickbay," Bones growled. "But if you can get me a tricorder and a med kit that'd be a start. If this hadn't been billed as a damn diplomatic mission I would've had one on me."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Doctor." Jim sighed, running a hand over his face.

There was a beat before Bones rested a hand on his shoulder. "Same to you, Jim," he said softly.

"I should've left him on the ship, Bones," Jim groaned. Bones had the decency not to reply.

After a several tense minutes, Leader of the Second Circle hurtled back into the caves, juggling an armful of communicators and phasers. Before she could reach the gate, the guards lowered their spears to block her path.

"Some of those are weapons," one pointed out distrustfully.

"Yes," confirmed Leader of the Third Circle as he approached the door. "Do you remember which ones you pulled from their hands?" The two guards conferred for a moment then correctly indicated the phasers. "Then, may we give them the gold ones?"

Further deliberation among the Kestarans resulted in Jim holding his communicator with each of the guards standing just beyond arm's reach with their spears poised to strike at the first sign of resistance. While Jim was loathe to do anything with weapons pointed at him, his pride was not worth Spock's safety and he hailed the ship quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief when the signal was able to get through the stone of the mountain with seemingly little interference.

"Sulu here, Captain. Sure am glad to hear from you, sir -- I'm having a rough time with these Kestarans."

" _You're_ having a rough time? Why!?"

"Yes, sir. They're none too pleased that you disappeared into the... mountains? Am I reading that right, Uhura?"

"Lieutenant," Jim called to order impatiently.

"Sorry, sir. They're saying we're violating some great law of theirs that we weren't told about. Saying they need us to bring you back or they'll have to punish us under the law, sir. Of course that's hard to do when we lose your comm signals."

Jim groaned and crushed the bridge of his nose to stave off the stress headache he could feel sneaking up on him. He turned to Merryn who was gazing enraptured at the communicator. "My doctor needs his tools but you won't let us leave. Can I have my people send us medical supplies? Would that be acceptable?"

Merryn's eyes darted back up to his, reading him carefully again, then she addressed one of the guards. "Can your Hunt find the spot where these aliens first appeared?"

"Of course."

Merryn nodded. "And if they send medicine for their scientist, will you allow them to use it?"

The two men exchanged uneasy glances but at last agreed.

"Very good." She turned back to Jim. "I assume you can send your supplies to the same place?"

"We can."

"Then you may."

Jim wasted no time hailing Sulu again. "Mr. Sulu, we can't to return to the ship just yet. Instead, transport a medical tricorder and a fully equipped med kit to the exact coordinates we beamed to earlier."

Several beats played out before Sulu responded. "To confirm, sir: Sent to the original coordinates, not your current location?" Jim was pleased that despite Sulu's obvious hesitancy and confusion, the lieutenant was wasting no time.

"Correct, Mr. Sulu. That's all for now. Kirk out." He closed the communicator and held it up. "May I keep this?" The guards looked distinctly uncomfortable with that prospect, so he sighed and handed the device to Merryn who took it eagerly.

“Head of the First Hunt, have your Hunt retrieve the supplies,” she ordered. “Leaders of the Second and Third Circles, take some students from the Circle and accompany the Hunt. Examine the supplies for threats then bring them here.”

They nodded and left. Jim let Merryn excitedly examine the communicator and returned to his team who were crowded protectively around Spock and McCoy.

"Captain, what kind o' law dae ye think Sulu meant?" Scotty asked as Jim sat down across from Spock.

"Hell if I know, Scotty," Jim sighed, his professionalism slipping with the dissipating tension. "We have a med kit coming and that's all I care about right now. President Binvari can sue us all he wants for whatever weird thing he thinks we've done, but I just want to get Spock awake and out of here."

"Aye, sir. I just-"

But then Spock's eyelids fluttered. Jim couldn't have stopped himself from gasping his name even if every Kestaran hunter on the planet had him at spear point.

Spock's eyes opened painfully slowly and Jim found himself holding his breath and leaning forward to grasp Spock's upper arm. Spock stared at Jim unseeingly for a small infinity and Jim heard himself whisper Spock's name again -- a plea.

The tension wasn't cut with a knife so much as pulverized by a photon torpedo.

The communicator shrilled to life in Merryn's hands. She yelped and fumbled with it before it clattered to the floor, the lid popping open as it skidded across the rocks. Simultaneously, consciousness crashed back into Spock. He took a shuddering breath and his eyes shocked into focus. Jim's other hand shot up to grasp Spock by his shoulder . Uhura's voice, cut through with static, leapt from the open communicator -- attack... breaking orbit…

"Scotty; The communicator!" Jim barked. "Spock! What happened? Are you alright?"

Spock blinked several times, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then the confusion melted from his face to be replaced with an open, gentle resignation that suddenly reminded Jim of frozen planets and late-night talks of destiny....

"Jim, my old friend." Spock sighed. "I believe this complicates matters."

Jim didn't want to think about how close to hysteric his laugh sounded. "No kidding, old man."


End file.
